Genesis of the Living Dead
light falls on an empty stage
once filled with the living band
now coated in dead artists
corpses strewn across the scene
draw what you think is real
reality contained within a wooden ideal
core of lead explains
the story lined with sorrow
decaying tomorrows written in red on black
surrounded by molotov dogs
scored by choirs of demented angels
driven insane by the chatter of the dead
deception held in silence
by a knowing tell
in a flickering eye socket
inverted mines shelter the wicked
those murdered by convention
but rose again to revolt
against the undead surfers
decaying tomorrows written in red on black
surrounded by molotov dogs
scored by choirs of demented angels
driven insane by the chatter of the dead
blood red waves immerse their concious thoughts
rock reefs made of once tall buildings
evil expressions encased in stone
muffled screams set in inch thick concrete
shattered bones lay exposed
exhibiting centuries old rotting skin
the story can now begin
decaying tomorrows written in red on black
surrounded by molotov dogs
scored by choirs of demented angels
driven insane by the chatter of the dead
once filled with the living band
now coated in dead artists
corpses strewn across the scene
draw what you think is real
reality contained within a wooden ideal
core of lead explains
the story lined with sorrow
decaying tomorrows written in red on black
surrounded by molotov dogs
scored by choirs of demented angels
driven insane by the chatter of the dead
deception held in silence
by a knowing tell
in a flickering eye socket
inverted mines shelter the wicked
those murdered by convention
but rose again to revolt
against the undead surfers
decaying tomorrows written in red on black
surrounded by molotov dogs
scored by choirs of demented angels
driven insane by the chatter of the dead
blood red waves immerse their concious thoughts
rock reefs made of once tall buildings
evil expressions encased in stone
muffled screams set in inch thick concrete
shattered bones lay exposed
exhibiting centuries old rotting skin
the story can now begin
decaying tomorrows written in red on black
surrounded by molotov dogs
scored by choirs of demented angels
driven insane by the chatter of the dead
© Jim Steel 2010