We are the walking dead
The thing you run form with a sense of dread
And as we come limping into your house
We wish you would cower just like a mouse
We jut want to eat you, you don't understand
We all think of you as good hamburger stands
We are still just like more, more dead than alive
We are'nt independent, but part of a hive
But sometime you fight back
Striking out at us with a firm whack
Then we limp sadly back to our graves
To be hurridly burried by a stong man that shaves
But next time you lay restless, cowering in bed
It's us that you fear, the walking dead
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~The Large book of Tales and Lore
The title is relatively self-explanitory. Here I plan on writing stuff like Poetry, Short stories, and random Tales. Enjoy reading what you can. More will be added when I think of it.
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