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No one saw the end had come,
a world of walking dead,
that feed upon the living’s flesh
and so it quickly spread.
I mean we’ve all seen movies shown,
but still we never thought
that it could really come to pass
and leave us overwrought.
The P.C. nuts were on the case,
like anybody cared,
you can’t say zombie, stiff or ghoul,
you call them life impaired.
They protested on every street,
defending zombie rights,
‘til swept away upon a tide
of teeth and hungry bites.
‘Decapitate the head’ they said
‘or just destroy the brain’
as broadcast on the daily news,
it just seemed so insane.
Boarding up the window frame
and nailing shut the door
to barricade ourselves inside
and plan for what’s in store.
We live within a terraced street,
the corner homes a shop,
we really need to get supplies
before we start to drop.
And so into the attic drawn,
a plan to burrow through
into next door and then the next
‘til shop comes into view.
And so for days we hammered through,
too high for zombie reach,
collecting neighbours who’d survived,
until the shop we breach.
We stared dismayed from attic hatch,
the shop was overrun
as zombies staggered up the aisles
and us without a gun.
Time to get creative then,
collecting power tools,
and garden spades and forks and blades
to kill these undead ghouls.
Next we hit the kitchen drawers
for cleavers and meat knives
and anything that came to hand
we thought might save our lives.
First collecting all the bricks
to stack at attic hatch
and made some noise to draw them up
in hopes of their dispatch.
And so they came in hordes of death,
a smell so far from fresh
that made us all begin to gag,
the stench of rotting flesh.
Then we started pelting them
with bricks on each one’s head,
spattered dents that stove their sculls
and stopped the bastards dead.
But now they’d started piling up
and new ones reached to climb,
getting higher with each corpse,
and closer all the time.
We sat the lawn mower on the hatch
and switched the power on,
spraying fingers, blood and brains,
‘til heads and limbs were gone.
Then making sure the coast was clear,
onto the floor we’d drop
and quickly made our way down stairs
and checked all round the shop.
We swiftly brought the shutters down
and boarded up the door,
before we saw some zombies left
to kill inside the store.
Spades that took their heads clean off
and nail guns spilling brains,
garden forks that jab their eyes
and gouge out their remains.
Drills that burrow in their brains
and chainsaws carving heads,
axe and cleavers hacking flesh
as carnage quickly spreads.
We cheer because we took the shop
to keep us fed for days,
so maybe we can sit it out
while soldiers end the craze…
If not… Next stop, Walmart or Asda…
Jesus Christ was crucified,
a sacrifice of love,
that brought forgiveness of our sins
in death from God above.
Which makes me question what’s the deal
with giving chocolate eggs?
And why an Easter Bunny with
his hippy hoppy legs?
I ponder and I contemplate,
it makes not any sense
and nobody can tell me why
we humour this pretence.
I’ve called the church and googled it
and written to the Pope.
But none can offer answers
or can give me any hope.
I figured it’s a mystery
for me to figure out,
I have to catch the Bunny
and then ask what it’s about.
So I loaded up my van
I felt like Elma Fudd,
‘Be vewy vewy quiet,
hunting wabbit’s magic blood’
I found him standing in the street
with chocolate eggs for sale,
and so I gave him every chance
to speak the Bunny’s tale.
Persistent in my questions asked,
he begged me please to stop,
then angry as his threats began
to leave and call a cop.
But I couldn’t let it go
and tipped out all his eggs
and as he bent to pick them up,
I broke his fucking legs.
Then suddenly as shock kicked in,
I dragged him to the van
and swiftly bundled him inside
and so the night began.
I quickly took him to my house,
to basement under floor
and tightly tied him up so I
could question him some more.
Hogtied, scared and at my feet,
I simply ask him why.
‘Please don’t hurt me, it’s a suit,
I’m just a normal guy’
Not the answer that I seek,
there’s got to be a link
between the Bunny and the Cross,
it really makes you think.
So I built a wooden cross
to see what it could be,
to test a theory in my mind,
I guess we’ll wait and see.
Is the Bunny tied to God?
Is he pure and wise?
So then I nailed the bastard up
to see if he will rise.
But I find three days have passed
and clearly he’s still dead,
so I skinned and gutted him
for rabbit stew instead.
Waste not, want not so they say,
I fed on him all week,
but still I am no wiser
to the answers that I seek.
But it opens other doors
to things that I must know
to question all the things in life
and help my spirit grow.
Like what’s the deal with Christmas time
between the birth of Christ
and a fat guy in a big red suit
and gifts so overpriced?
That creepy bastard, Santa Claus
is next upon my list
and he’d better have some answers
or he will be sorely missed.
See you at Christmas Time Kiddies…