What a strange girl she was / With that dead stare of hers./ My foot lies to me, leads me / Down a dry mud road./ An army of bones walks by me,/ Silicon webs to the setting sun./ Yellowish olive bones,/ Marching without voice, without breath./ Where are these zombies going,/ With their empty eyes and flapping hands?/ They march down the brick road,/ Aimlessly, purposelessly, hopelessly./ Zombies, zombies are here./ In their faces, the absence of life./ Death crawls beside them,/ While the world spins on its axis./ They whisper in senseless laments,/ The words the wind carries./ Oh, how I long to escape this forest,/ Where the zombies find their dwelling.
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