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Zombie's Rye

Trudge as a zombie,
Pursuing a succulent heart.
Not a staggering soul can stop me
From gaining what I did part.

A scent of death overwhelms
And I hunt like a wolf on a sheep.
A beast of another realm;
Crimson blood: mine to reap.

Savagely ripping the innocent
Not a limb left to spare.
Those days of sheer magnificence
Are those of no repair.

Time is standing still.
Kill to live; live to kill.
I have become a monster and you must forgive,
I am doing this against my own will.

The bite that infects like a plague
Seeping to the marrows of the bone.
Engraving you like a dog tag,
Destined to eternally roam.

The victim is not you, but me,
For you shall die quickly.
Suffer and try as I might to flee,
Every day I shall grow more sickly.

Seeing nothing but rotting corpses,
Lingering smells of blood in the sky.
Ripping the neck so the blood forces;
Take a sip of a zombie’s rye.

Trudge as a zombie,
Pursuing a succulent heart.
Not a staggering soul can stop me
From gaining what I did part.

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Hunting through the streets for fresh blood, a fetish that will never subside, blood.

Tags

blood, dead, death, dying, hunt, immortal, plague, scent, trudge, zombie

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