Bloody Victory

The corpses of the undead
Rising from their places
Crusted bloody bodies
With guant and hollow faces

They march upon dirt
Their spears sharpened fine
With their malicious eyes
They send shivers up your spine

The army is waiting
Their patience is slim
The sun sets behind them
The attitude grim

With piercing screeches
Rises all-out war
With every slaughter
The monster wants more

Showers of crimson
Take a blood bath
Not one innocent person
Can run from their wrath

A stench fills the air
Of the lifeless rotting
Upon their great horses
The victors are trotting