Like those we do not mention ingesting not in jest the living’s  intestines,
jaws the churning pistons of festering undead flesh-questing engines,
an unblessed region infested with lurking legions of heathens,
mercilessly unleashing a murder season,
Twisted, sordid rigor mortis hordists, doors boarded serve not as a fortress.
Attempt to ignore the relentless menace
and receive your penance as sustenance for repugnant ex morgue-tenants.

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