Bitten

The dead don't bother the living

At least that's what they say

But on certain dark and stormy nights

The dead will have their way

Creeping out at sunset

From wet and musty graves

Maggots eating decaying flesh

Midst their softly moaning raves

Walking slowly in the night

Their stench upon the plains

A fog upon the fields tonight

The undead stake their claims

Perhaps they will find you in the night

When sleeping in your bed

Sinking teeth into your flesh

To be joining the undead...

(c) BAM