Post by Wallflower on Mar 6, 2005 3:57:10 GMT -5
A zombie perched upon his tombstone;
Waits for something, all alone.
For what he awaits, he knows not;
So continuously, patiently he waits upon his lot.
Nothing to do, except to wait;
Waiting nervously, for an untold fate.
He listens, examines every sound;
With a hope or a thought, of the news to be found.
Off in the distance, he see's his companion, a crow;
Coming to say, there is no news, there is nothing to know.
The zombie, a look of relief on his rotting face;
Realizes that the other dead things are finally giving them their space.
He thanks the crow, his friend, of which he is the best;
And they understand that they can both be put to rest.
Now lay the zombie and crow, seperate but one;
In a single grave awaitng the sun.
Waits for something, all alone.
For what he awaits, he knows not;
So continuously, patiently he waits upon his lot.
Nothing to do, except to wait;
Waiting nervously, for an untold fate.
He listens, examines every sound;
With a hope or a thought, of the news to be found.
Off in the distance, he see's his companion, a crow;
Coming to say, there is no news, there is nothing to know.
The zombie, a look of relief on his rotting face;
Realizes that the other dead things are finally giving them their space.
He thanks the crow, his friend, of which he is the best;
And they understand that they can both be put to rest.
Now lay the zombie and crow, seperate but one;
In a single grave awaitng the sun.