Tick tock mister
You made this deadline
Not me
So do not whine
Things will NOT be fine
Unless you writ large line after line
I must have pudding for brains
Which is quite a thought
To think to look forward to
In the coming Zombie Apocalypse
Will my brains become legend?
Will they be sought after as a delicacy
Often wondered about
But never seen
Let alone tasted
Dreamed of
In the depths of undead dreamland
That surely zombies populate
In those times when nothing is going on
And they lay there quiet
In zombie hibernation
Their still maggoty sleep
One eye wide open seeing nothing
The other hanging obscenely from it's socket
Looking down at the ground
When it's looking at all
Will my pudding brains be served upon a silver platter
To the zombie king
Dressed in rotting rags of finery
Strutting haughtily in a shambling zombie way
Into the receiving room
Where my head rests gently upon the tray
My eyes closed most dignified
My mouth half open as if to say
"Here be-ith the most pudding of all brains!
Presented to you here
Oh mighty zombie overlord
Your royal highness the king!"
My high opinion of myself never flagging
Even in death
I am proud of my good taste
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