When the Dead go Marching In

From their graves, they rose - the dead
staggered, and dragged their feet and hungered
with fallen faces and freezing lips, with gums like lead
that rose and fell, and creaked when they lumbered
Through fields of festering fauna and flora long since fled
like birds in winter; like life with Meg
when the window screen collided with her head
that did not scream nor did it beg
For foiled life, a future in a wheelchair
that keeps her death-face on in life
but she is gone now, she can't despair
unlike these souls that are rife
With the sins of all mankind
buried in flesh and blood, and whispered lies
and of untold truths and of stories left behind
that are written in blood and eaten by flies
That departs with instruments of redemption
with the silence cheering them on;
now mankind better be repenting
When the dead go marching on.