Zombies On The Job 🧟♂️👻 [Tales]
He lived in the shadows, where no one would tread A hermit in silence, the world thought him dead His shack was a ruin, sticks and old tin The walls barely standing, about to give in The fire was out, the hearth gone cold A draft through the cracks made the nights get old He needed a change, but what could he do? Build it himself? Or hire a crew? Bewitched full of knowledge, and a restless mind He learned to make use of the dead he could find So he turned to the graveyard, the dirt and the bones Raised them from silence, to build him a home The first ones rose, stiff and slow With arms that hung loose and eyes that glow They shuffled and tripped, tools slipping from hands Dragging their feet as they scraped the land The walls took shape, though crooked and long Boards nailed high, backwards and wrong They tried their best, though it took some time It's all a mess, but it’ll be just fine One lost its arm, another its jaw Yet still, they kept working, like it was the law Hammering nails, wood splittin' apart The place isn't perfect, but it was a start Zombies on the job, they’re slow, but they fight Breaking through the darkness, they’ll work through the night Their hands may be broken, and their minds aren't there But they’ll build anything, any time, anywhere The house may be crooked, the roof blew away But with zombies on the job, it's fixed in a day Each hammer that falls, each nail that they drive They’re building it up, just to feel alive They work without rest, no need for a break Stacking up bricks ‘cause their backs can't ache No chatter, no drama, no asking for pay Just grunts in the morning and groans through the day He showed them some tricks, to measure and brace Now one has a pencil stuck deep in his face They frame up the tower, they dredge up the moat The outhouse fell over, but makes a nice boat! Zombies on the job, they're one of a kind building his dreams with one-track minds Their limbs might be rotten, their joints might squeak Give them a task, and they’ll finish this week The tower leans left, walls creak and moan but somehow it feels a little more like home Each hammer that falls, each nail they drive They’re building a place where we all can thrive Now spires rise crooked, but reach for the skies And windows were installed with the wrong size A door made of gravestone, a chimney from bone And plus he will never be home alone The crypt is a pantry, the moat's full of frogs There’s rats in the gutters, and bats in the logs He stands on the roof with a spark in his eye Built on a nightmare but standing just fine Zombies on the job no punch clock to mind They’ll build through the hours, with limbs misaligned No blueprint or permits, just guts and a goal Raised up a lair from the edge of a hole The tower, it leans, the shingles still slide But he’s got four walls and the dead on his side So if you hear something groaning, don’t run or hide It’s just home improvement of the undead kind
