Undertaker Two Poem by John Ackerman

memories are made of things another door bell rings
falling apart at the seams a butterfly's dream
You know I'm born to lose, and gambling's for fools,
But that's the way I like it, baby, I don't want to live forever
viscous fangs dripping blood off side we run away to hide
society is blind you see so I devote myself to poetry to set me free
get cadence to the Undertaker as he burys another hero
to late when their corpse is lowered down below
cinnammon with syrup in their dear eyes of peppermint fueled
he stakes his stand to orts unseen in a land filled up with mean
blind leaders of the blind will fall into a great ditch evil switch
the Undertaker is not a faker the less that you give your a taker
shattered dreams filtered through its evil schemes falling apart at the means
all of life is a proven test in the big contest I must clearly confess
some are the tool of the government & industry to

The Undertaker takes it all in holds his breath to count to ten a fiend
sees bodies in their glorified mass circus appeal lying on a table
naked creatures with fluid running through their veins its the insane
he lives in the underground with the under world sound
darkness with conclaves of disorder