, , ,

I’m too late

They’ve all turned

Zombies to the left

Zombies to the right

Too many for me to handle

They carry lumber to and fro

Some with hammers

Some with nails

Some with saws

All headed to the mill

I see quick glimpses of color

I see the undead

Moving slowly

left, right

drag, stomp

All to the mill

All with lumber

No use for weapons now