Sunday, August 12, 2018


Look at the pretty sky.
Such beauty way up high.
Clouds drifting by so slowly
Like a shrine to what’s holy.

All of this will come to an end.
Don’t bother to search for a friend.
The moon will rise up in the night sky
Into the danger from what lurks high.

Shadows will descend onto the sand,
Shrieking louder than a marching band.
What do they want from our peaceful town?
Death and mayhem–all served with a frown.
Run for your life if you still can.
There’s death for each and every man.
The Dead are here to stay.
They did not come to play.

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