Misfits - Hunting Humans

Upon this threshold of disaster The birth of the eleventh plague The fires burn at night, I begin to doubt the smell of burning flesh Will ever fade away The touch of death is all around us A thousand corpses block our way A man-made germ makes almost everyone commit suicide Just to rise and eat their dead Night of the living Dead... We're hunting humans We're hunting humans We're hunting humans It's killing time every day I can't control this eerie feeling An evil screaming in my head I don't I'll last the night There is no cure For this genocide Or resurrection of the dead Night of the living Dead... We're hunting humans...