Gray's Sick Poetry

Corpses on the Porch

The zombies are everywhere
And people so few
They don't have lots of hair
And on people they chew

We bash zombies on the head
Usually they're dead
And with what I've been fed
Just be glad it wasn't you instead

We'll whack them with bats and bars of steel
And try to get away
But they're always on our heel
And I won't be a zombies lunch today

Hack through them like a warm knife and butter
And soldier through an infinite crowd
We will survive, and I hope I didn't stutter
Trust me, it's a death wish if you're loud