The hyenas circle, as ravenous zombies, feed
On the feeble, fallen, who had no cause to cede
The detestable infected, The Tower's, tarot
Will rend flesh and bone, to sup on marrow
The vultures circle, beneath scattered clouds
As frenzied flies, swarm, in death pall shrouds
Ready to infest, the sundered, those post-life
For on undead and dead, the maggots writhe
A parhelic circle, glistens, around the sun
A crystallised reflection, of an incessant hum
It's like a mourning star, for those fed a lie
Then fed to zombies, until the end, was nigh
There's an 'inner circle', of a terra forfeit
They're afar from here, in low Earth orbit
But their secret satellite's, a mere way station
Until they return to their, new world, nation
The ever decreasing circle, of the human race
Is, without Heaven, or Hell, just lost in space
And everything's malignant, but they'd forgot
That even the undead, will die, and maggots rot
