Head Coffin

I worked on this during many a commute to work on a bus. I think it’s funny, but meh I tend to like things related to the walking dead (also known as the living dead, the undead, or just plain zombies)

It could be funnier if you read this first, maybe I don’t know.

I thought at one point of time I was very original / creative by taking this classic poem and tweaking it the way I did, until I watched the Shrek Christmas special thingy and everyone did this very thing, some of which where pretty darn clever. Ah well all the same here it is enjoy / suffer through it.

Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the Mall
Not a patron was stirring, not even to crawl.
The shoppers where hung by their entrails with care,
The undead liking their meals bloody and rare.

The Survivors where hiding deep in the stores,
While throngs of dead shuffled across the floors.
And I in some boots, gloves, and jacket in tatters
Had just snuck into the “Scorching Subject Matters”

When from the “Lawn Tools“ there began such a slaughter,
I looked out to see who was the zombie fodder.
Away from the window I dived in a flash,
Tore down the shutters and piled up some trash.

The blood on the walls, the guts flung in the air
Gave nightmares of monsters, and was too much to bear
When what to my ears I should suddenly hear,
But the whirl of a chainsaw, actually quite near.

With a saw in his hands, he chopped through them all,
I knew in a moment, there was hope in the Mall.
More rapid then eagles, his saw chopped them down,
And he whistled and shouted and sung with no frown!

“Now Splatter, now Gusher, now Spurter” He flouted
“On Mayhem, on Havoc, on Chaos” He shouted
“With the edge of my saw! I’m having a real ball!
Now saw the dead! Saw the Dead! saw the Dead all!”

As dead limbs that before the insanity bound
When they meet with an obstacle, teeth spinning round
So up to the store-tops I heard the shout call
With a Saw full of gas, was the St. of the Mall

And then, in a twinkling I heard on the door.
The moaning and clawing of the undead lore.
As I ducked in my head and was diving to ground,
Through the ceiling Saint of the Mall dropped with no sound

He was dressed in cammo, from his cap to his boot,
And his clothes were wet with blood, a point that was moot.
A wail of limbs and death was pounding the door
And he grinned like a butcher, just opening his store.

His eyes how they glimmered! his muscles how scary!
His jaw was like a rock, his chest just so hairy!
His wide smirking mouth showed nothing of the toll,
And the look of the man was of one with a goal.

The remains of a cigar he puffed through his smile,
His friendly look was not just a clever guile.
He had a broad baseball bat hung from his belly
That I was guessing was for making brain jelly

He was fit and ready, what a sight to behold,
And I wouldn’t have believed it, even if told.
A wink of his eye and a nod of his head,
Made me glad I wasn’t with the walking dead.

He made not a sound, just ready for brain work
And ripped open the door, then turned with a smirk
And laying his hand along his big saw
And giving a tug, off came the reaching claw

He charged through the horde, to the dead he just whistled,
And away they all went, arms twisted and legs crippled
Yet I heard him cry out, as the dead reached up high,
“Come get some you dead monkeys, come get some and die”