By Shroomy   

Walking aimlessly around,
Easily shot on open ground.
Pungent smell of rotting flesh:
The brain has become a mesh.

Stomach growling in instinct
It's not a purpose, if you think.
Happiness is food for brain;
A zombie to show you the pain.

In perfect human disguise
It lures you in with all those lies.
But who can blame the poor guy,
Who's just as concious as a fly?

When the soul and mind are gone
You're a danger for everyone.
When you're dead and still alive
You're the zombie who killed his mind.

Little zombie don't you cry,
It's not your fault they stole your life.
Don't feel guilty for those you consumed;
It's them who never understood.

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