Winter snow blankets the ground, Freezing hope.
With a shroud to warm me, I wait for spring.
Six feet under ground I can only mope
Waiting for the sounds of birds to ring
Dead, and waiting is the life around me
Come the spring we will rise, Like a flower
And the dead corpse I pretend to be
Will walk the earth and watch you cower
The apocalypse is near, ill-fated
You have much to fear, your end is now here
We the dead have coerced, and baited
You to think you are our puppeteer
We will soon strive in the sun
our spring awakening has begun
No comments:
Post a Comment