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.