Art:Poetry Death Match/Archived Round 12

My true love has become undead
It happened merely hours ago
And now I fear she wants my head

She walked out by the garden shed,
Where she was bitten on the toe,
My true love has become undead

The zombie bite, it quickly spread,
Her lust for blood began to grow,
And now I fear she wants my head

In four more days, we were to wed
I can't abide the status quo,
My true love has become undead

On brains, it seems, she must be fed,
She's gnawed the skulls of all we know,
And now I fear she wants my head

I wish, for her, a cure instead,
But lo, my sword I keep in tow,
My true love has become undead
And now I fear she wants my head

March of the Zombies

All shall perish in our attack!
Tonight begins our glorious reign;
Your brains shall make a tasty snack.

Dressed in rags or in finest black,
Rich and poor will both be slain.
All shall perish in our attack!

We'll gnaw your bones until they crack,
And feast on the marrow they contain.
Your brains shall make a tasty snack.

'Tis far too late to turn us back,
Your prayers for rescue are in vain.
All shall perish in our attack!

Of fresh victims there is no lack —
So many tender morsels remain.
Your brains shall make a tasty snack.

Each new victim adds to our pack;
Nothing can stop our grand campaign.
All shall perish in our attack!
Your brains shall make a tasty snack.