Herbringer End

The humble dank, dark hall of death Was quiet, peaceful and stocked. With corpses bandaged, naked and cold And not even close to rottening. Leather faced pretties and fly-blown chaps Beneath the sheets snow white. They soon will rise from sudden sleep And roam this earth once more. Behold these brown flesh dregs demised And smell their morbid fragrance. That topical scent that's sprayed and meant To end all toxic gases. When the frigid earth has brokened, the dirt still dry So soon the dead will bloom. From crumbling dirt and even worse They'll struggle free from tombs. Scartching cloths from decades past Within their caskets torn With dirty filthy finger nails in need of manicures. As mourners moon comes drawing near Before the grim owls call. They'll toil the earth in search of him Who mocked the dead and cold. You'll cringe and scream and tears will stream On the Herbringer of your end. You'll never again lay a cold bologna sandwhich On the chest of the dead again.