Corpses in the carvery,
mouths watering with glee,
children running up and down,
one big happy family.
Daddy's having eisbein,
and mommas having roast,
there are innards on the burgers
and flesh smeared on the toast.

The smell of death hangs in the air,
it goes nice with the wine,
the music makes so elegant
the massacre they dine.
They stuff their bellies heavy,
the fat sits in their throats,
they're happy that they came again,
they grab their murdered coats.