Brains...
This is what the thoughts of a teenage zombie consist of.
Brains... Brains... Brains... Brains...
Where brains?
This is what the wonderings of a teenage zombie consist of.
Where brains? Where brains? Where brains? Where brains?
Run!
This is what the thoughts of someone being chase by a teenage zombie consist of.
Run! Run! Run! Run!
Oh, crap.
This is what the thoughts of someone about to be bitten by a zombie consist of.
Oh, crap. Oh, crap. Oh, crap. Oh, crap.
Brains...
This is what the thoughts of a new-born teenage zombie consist of.
Brains... Brains... Brains... Brains...
It's all one gory cycle,
which you cannot escape.
As the sun rises here and sets over there,
you realize something.
You are zombie.
You are dead.
You want brains.
"This is what the thoughts of someone being chase by a teenage zombie consist of." "being chase by" WRONG!!! Still... fun poem, girl!
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