Cold pressed apple fluids left outside in a large jug
In the dead of winter the water freezes on top
Driving the flavor into a more concentrated solution below
Each time the blah ice is then removed and the process repeats over and over for months
Rewarded finally with a fermented drink that tasted of sunny autumn days and patience
Focusing all his attention on his spaghetti,
Oliver slowly twirled the utensil on top of his spoon,
Revolving strand after strand around their tines,
Knowing that he was breaking his dead Italian grandfather’s heart.
Can’t stand having something around my neck
Only I don’t get much choice in this gig
Living for the church was not going to be my style
Living dead come into the equation
And I had to sign up, so now I’m a holy man
Relax baby, I only baptize with a shotgun and cross with my saber
Perhaps he is just sleeping.
And that’s the excuse you want to go with?
Really, he could be just catching some shut-eye.
Realize that I have watched the Monty Python skit like a billion times.
Oh, then yeah, he’s dead
That was anticlimactic.
So do you want to start it from the top again?
Currency needs of the dead have gone out of control
Originally it was just two bits
It has increased due to inflation over the millennia
Now you better have two platinum credit cards or else know how to swim
Reach deep down inside of you when you feel dead
It’s there where you’re power resides
Set it loose upon your world
Everyone will fear your inner zombie
Undead and dangerous, you climb out of your energy grave
Pushing upright you shuffle off to find your brains
Going dead was such a drag
Having no sensations other than mind-numbing pain
Or the inability to have any strong emotions
So Wendy just haunted her surroundings
The way their daughter just floated through her days confused Wendy’s parents
Casualty numbers kept trickling in
Obscuring the greatness of the victory
Still, Vincent had to admit he’d lost over a quarter of his troops
They sold their lives dearly though
Littering the fertile fields with their enemy’s dead
Years later the soil still held the scent of their sacrificial blood
Dirt coated the remnants of civilization
Underneath the grime, the dead cars told a story
Silhouettes burned into the pavement eternally listened
The wind moaned at the ending
Misha looked back over the waves
In the distance, she could still see the fires on the shore
Reaching out, she placed a comforting hand on Herb
After everything, the two of them had been through
Cutting ties with their past and sailing into the unknown was the hardest
Last week it looked like they would both be dead in a mass grave
Even unbelievers like Misha could recognize their escape for what it was