They just keep on standing
And here I am slaughtering
With modified weapons I hold dear
It makes everything clear
I am luckily born for this!
To strike them down not just with my fists
To run or to hide is another thing
But to kill them, oh, what joy it brings!
The weapon ripping through their skins
Heads that explode like pumpkins
Severing the legs and hands
It's a party that I would sing and dance
And I'll never get tired of this
I am, after all, the ultimate beast
The boogeyman of the zombies
So give me more of them, please!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem