We Are the Walking Dead

We are the walking dead, they said.

We are the walking dead.

 

Everyone faints at the sound of our tread,

And we are the walking dead, they said.

We are the walking dead.

 

We are the walking dead, they said.

We are the walking dead.

Our eyes have a glow, all ghastly and red,

And everyone faints at the sound of our tread,

For we are the walking dead, they said.

We are the walking dead.

 

We are the walking dead, they said,

We are the walking dead.

Oh, the horrors we’ve faced! The blood that we’ve shed!

Our eyes have a glow, all ghastly and red,

And everyone faints at the sound of our tread.

Yes, we are the walking dead, they said.

We are the walking dead.

 

We are the walking dead, they said.

We are the walking dead.

And look, in our arms – a fresh-severed head!

For the horrors we’ve faced! The blood that we’ve shed,

Our eyes have a glow, all ghastly and red,

And everyone faints at the sound of our tread.

Oh, we are the walking dead, they said.

We are the walking dead.

 

We are the walking dead, they said.

We are the walking dead.

So run if you can, or tremble in dread,

For look, in our arms – a fresh-severed head!

The horrors we’ve faced! The blood that we’ve shed,

Our eyes have a glow, all ghastly and red,

And everyone faints at the sound of our tread.

Yes, we are the walking dead, they said.

We are the walking dead.

 

We are the walking dead, they said.

We are the walking dead.

HaHA, HaHA, we’re here by your bed!

So run if you can, or tremble in dread,

For look, in our arms – a fresh-severed head!

The horrors we’ve faced! The blood that we’ve bled,

Our eyes have a glow, all ghastly and red,

And everyone faints at the sound of our tread.

Yes, we are the walking dead, they said.

We are the walking dead.

 

We

Are

The

Walking

Dead.

 

 

 

 

A Ghoul in my School

They say there’s a ghoul who wanders my school,

But I don’t believe that it’s BOO!

They say it comes out with a BOO!-curdling shout,

But I think that’s crazy, don’t you?

They say the ghoul’s breath is enough to cause death,

But stories like BOO! Don’t scare me!

There’s nothing to fear, there are no BOO! in here,

Ghouls don’t exist as you…

Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaargh!

Thud.

The Booshop

On a dark and stormy midnight,

When the wind came ripping and roaring,

On a dark and stormy midnight,

When fingers of ice came clawing,

On a dark and stormy midnight,

When the moon was the colour of blood,

The bookshop’s ‘K’ was blown away,

And fell to the ground with a thud.

Then deep in the gloom of the booshop,

The books began mournfully moaning,

Then deep in the gloom of the booshop,

The books gave a spine tingling groaning,

Then deep in the gloom of the booshop,

The books fluttered off from the shelves,

Like bats they swooped, like bats they looped,

As they all flitted round by themselves.

Nobody saw as they floated,

Fast through the ink of the night,

Nobody saw as they floated,

Their pages so ghostly and white,

Nobody saw as they floated,

Though all heard their blood-curdling screams,

As they flew through the black and never came back,

And with them flew thousands of dreams.

The booshop’s now silent and empty,

Its shelves are all lonely and bare,

The booshop’s now silent and empty,

But do go inside, if you dare.

The booshop’s now silent and empty,

Bereft of its greatness and glory,

But on dark stormy nights when the moon’s shining bright,

You might see the ghost of a story.

 

 

Ghost Toast

When the toast sidled out from the toaster,

A grisly and gruesome old slice,

And it let out a howl and a bloodcurdling growl,

In a breath that was chilly as ice,

When it flew through the air, going here, going there,

With a horrible death-scented waft,

And it waltzed through the wall (which was solid and tall),

Then it creaked up the stairs to the loft,

When the toast went on groaning and moaning,

I knew what had caused this grim fate.

We’d been using some bread that was already dead;

A week past its ‘best before’ date.

The Song of the Dung Beetle

[Note: If my vast scientific knowledge (aka Wikipedia) is to be believed, dung beetles really do navigate using the stars]

At night I gaze at the moon above,

And stare at the stars in the distance.

I ponder the meaning of life, and such,

And contemplate truth and existence.

Oh the thoughts that I think as I stew in the stink;

Philosophy’s just what I do.

But I live in a pile, a big steaming pile,

A HUGE steaming pile of…

I have to put up with a lot, you know;

The stigma I have to endure!

And the insults I get from the people I’ve met,

As I eat up the muck and manure.

I never get praise for my stargazing ways,

Or the mess-cleaning work that I do.

As I live in a pile, a big steaming pile,

A HUGE steaming pile of…

Shortage of Ls

There’s a deficit of ‘ls’,

They’re in very short suppy,

Yes, regrettaby they’re acking

And I know the reason why;

It’s those greedy beasts the llamas,

Who ony need the one,

But instead they go round pifering

An extra ‘l’ for fun.

Kitchen Bullies

Watch out for ominous onions.

They don’t give a hoot how you feel.

They’re louts, they’re yobs, they’re brutes, they’re slobs,

They love it when people go squeal.

They’ll make you wail, they’ll make you cry,

They’ll make you break down with a tear in your eye.

Watch out for ominous onions.

Beware their charm and a-peel.

The Grammar of Cat

My cat’s a comma, a curl of fur,

A pause of claws, and then a blur

As she stretches and yawns, and takes her flight,

A swift exclamation mark writing the night.

 

The Night War Drobes

Left, right! Left, right!

The wardrobes go to war.

Forward march! They fiercely fight

In squadrons as you snore.

‘To do or die!’ they bravely cry,

‘We won’t admit defeat.

We’ll make quite sure those clothes of yours

Are never, ever neat’.

They shoot out shoes and shorts and shirts,

With hangers as their bows.

And now they’re firing frocks and skirts,

To blast their wooden foes.

The troops fling trousers, shocked with socks,

As pants come pelting past.

But now the sun comes streaming in;

The battle ends at last.

And in the morning all that’s left

Are clothes strewn on your floor.

The only sign that in the night

Your wardrobe went to war.

 

There’s a Fly in my Soup

Waiter! Waiter! Waiter!

I think there’s a fly in my soup.

It’s floating around on some carrot it’s found,

And it seems to be covered in gloop.

Waiter! Waiter! Waiter!

Thanks for removing the fly.

But now there’s a spider, much larger and wider,

That’s just sort of lounging on by.

Waiter! Waiter! Waiter!

Now this is just getting absurd!

Look at the beak going peck at that leek!

It seems to be some sort of bird!

Waiter! Waiter! Waiter!

No, no, I am not having THAT!

The bird’s disappeared, but it’s ever so weird

As now there’s a great fluffy cat.

Waiter! Waiter! Waiter!

Now there’s a dog in my bowl!

It’s lazing about by a piece of cooked trout

And it’s having a nice little roll.

Waiter! Waiter! Waiter!

I just heard a very loud bleating!

Yes, it’s a goat, and it’s learned how to float,

And of course it’s preventing me eating.

Waiter! Waiter! Waiter!

Just look at what’s in my soup now!

It’s sitting there chewing and merrily mooing;

A bloomin’ great black and white cow!

Waiter! Waiter! Waiter!

The cow’s been replaced by a horse!

No, no it’s not trotting – it seems to be yachting!

It’s sailing around in the sauce.

Waiter! Waiter! Waiter!

A lady’s just sitting there wallowing!

Please ladle the lady away from my soup.

Just think of the things she’s been swallowing!

Waiter! Waiter! Waiter!

I’ve had quite enough, so goodbye!

I’ll make this quite clear; next time I’m here

Please – simply leave me the fly.