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J.B.

Lively Corpses

Face to the breeze
Eyes of the empty
Chilling never so literal
Roaming and pitiful
 
Kill when ripe
Lost to the primal
Frozen like a still frame
Stuck in forever pain
 
Latching on to the populace
Cornering the masses
No trace of Conscience
Without any pretense
 
Unified in hunger
They mirror those prey they seek
The end is very nigh
Endless black will rule the sky
 
Those feeling still shrink
Those of decay onward slay
Six feet below reclaims its home
For eternity they shall roam

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