Zombies

I thought I’d earned a little rest, so I drank a pint—or three, But that dwarven ale from Kharam Dzu really got the best of me. I stumbled through the moonlit streets, and somehow—don’t ask how— I ended up in the graveyard with the undead all around. Oh, Morandas, what have you done? Drunk in the graveyard, thought it’d be fun. But now you’re smooching zombies under the moonlit sky, “By Lorminstra’s grace, I swear, I don’t know why!” The air was cold, the fog was thick, my head was in a haze, I tripped on a tombstone, and there she was, her eyes a ghastly gaze. Her rotting smile seemed charming then—my judgment was a blur, I leaned in close, and before I knew, I planted one on her! Oh, Morandas, what have you done? Drunk in the graveyard, thought it’d be fun. But now you’re smooching zombies under the moonlit sky, “By Lorminstra’s grace, I swear, I don’t know why!” The zombies cheered, the banshees wailed, the skeletons did a jig, I fled the scene in panic, tripping over someone’s wig. Now when I visit the graveyard, the undead wink and grin, I guess I’ve got a zombie bride—oh, Lorminstra, what a sin! Oh, Morandas, what have you done? Drunk in the graveyard, thought it’d be fun. But now you’re smooching zombies under the moonlit sky, “By Lorminstra’s grace, I swear, I don’t know why!”