Full of decay
full of rot. You
bring disarray
you aren't so hot.
Pieces missing
scattered around.
Dismissing that
hand on the ground.
Is it dead or
is it complete?
The first ignore
the last to eat.
It moves! But with,
a life so crude.
Wiggle and writhe.
Oooo. Finger food.
Is that my arm I'm chewing on?
Zombie zombie on the wall
when did you have your great big fall?
Lying in pieces full of rot
when will you loose the knot . . .
of unlife?
Gather round, all who hear,
and witness my sage advice.
They come, they come without fear,
they come to feast upon our flesh.
Shambling, moaning, groaning
they come, but slowly.
Arm thyselves with weapons of
head-wounding.
Mockery of crockery shall no longer persist,
once it be known that such shall save our doomed race.
Bats, too, sticks, clubs, crowbars,
all shall prove useful against the undead hordes.
Aim for the head, or you'll be dead.
Destroy the brain, or remove the head.
This will stop their locomotion
and quell their ungodly hunger.
Choose your weapon.
Aim for the head.
DON'T MISS!
(or they will eat your brains)
