To the tune of "Land Down Under" by Men at Work.
Grantabrugge. Travelling in a Lightist Convey, all the hippy trails were full of Zombies. I met a strange lady, She made me nervous, She took me out and made me Laz'rus. And She said: "I've come from Grantabrugge, (I'm kind of Vivamort's number one there,) And now this soul's been torn asunder, We need another one, We need another one for mother." "Die undead!" said an orc in the tussel, who was pretty big, with lots of muscles. I said "[Teutonian] Do you sprechen mein language?" But he just smiled and returned unto the carnage. And He said: "[common] I come from Grantabrugge, There's good pay for rent-a-thug there. But now you see I'm doing something nob'ler, The Lady Iris, Iris and her friends're in my care." Dying in a tent on Saturday, Along came a hungry fire lad-ay. I kept the faith, although she tried to tempt me, But when they laid me to rest, they found my corpse was empty. And they all said: "We come from Grantabruge, But now it looks like we're going under. Though at times, we've had lots of fun there, We're never can outrun the rumble of the drums: ley-tunder." 'cos we were; living in Grantabrugge, with all the mages, priests and sluggers; and yes, the occasional drugger, the demon and the scout, the lucky and devout, and others.