Moving down the line,
One down, next round,
Looking for a sign.
That I'm not the last alive.
Delta 5 is my tag,
Bound and gagged,
In a world of monstrosities,
Heading for all the major cities.
Nowhere to hide, when the blood collides,
With an open wound, and makes you feel like the world is just a tomb.
Filled with the dead walking, and you think you hear talking,
But it's just some guttural growl.
This infection is spreading,
But I'm on the prowl, with my Desert Eagle.
Looking very regal as I chamber a round,
And send these undead mounds of flesh to their burial grounds.
Hell, maybe someone out there is alive and well,
But I haven't found 'em yet,
And these corpses pose a serious threat.
Against humanity, and my sanity.
Blaring lights bring into focus horrendous sights,
Filling the rest of my nights, with turmoil and unrest,
As the soil soaks up the blood and turns red,
Ten thousand graves fed, with rotting corpses.
Nothing in the world could have prepared me for this atrocity,
Killing the citizens turned denizens of my own city.