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The Undead
by Nevada Kerr

Living corpse addict, warrior grave
Patron of sex slaughter marketing rage
You bleed coy grooms and altar strays
With your white slave propaganda
About yuppie wives who get paid
Raiding the wombs of collegiate maids

Deceiving with candor
And philanthropic banter
You double-cross God-fearing mobsters
Deprived of your angelic sponsors
Coddle lawyers and damsels
And other well-bred monsters

Companion cadaver and cold, cultured rube
Your celibate soul harbors a ghoul
Fingering the fetal soups of unborn dupes
Festering in valentines and embryo tubes

Ghostly in seedtime, obsessed by dawn
You cripple teen runaways with a kind padre's con
And keep your henchmen nimble and vile
Bagging the limbs of drunk thugs unriled

You mutilate widows with lawn mower blades
Covet boys swooning from cancer and Aids
And explode in a tizzy when they stay back a grade

Haunted cut-up, exhibitionist tease
White robed butcher, know-it-all priest
With the genes for abuse
And a Sunday school lease
You feed a derelict flock
With the toes on your feet

Dark meat handler of the undead's masquerades
Treacherous pander with a rabbi's braids
You were born to philander and always get laid
In the front or back seats of the Pope's motorcade

Written by Nevada Kerr
28th February 2002.

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Created: March 2002 © Paul Kinder Last Updated: 1/3/02