The Undertaker

he lives in his own world through choice of demonic desire for power inside he hides through reason of his own with a dark desire for fresh bodies alone he hides through the silence amidst the violence there is a great hold on his soul let the truth be told cadavers he will hold in his crypt doen below many are taken away to him on a dimly lit candle the undertaker works non stop eager to labor for the legal tender within his dungeon of gloom at night he hears voices with foot steps a long duration of masked zombie creatures vacate his premises yet he continue his work on his prized possession Satanic laughter in the window with a shutter feeble minded mutants running wild in the street a whole host of circus like frenzy invades his domain he keeps a jar next to his crypt with blood the fangs of each zombie drip blood from each side maggot infested embalming fluid permeates throughout many skulls of discarded cadavers are left in his closet still many do not know what he realy does only that he's the undertaker one dreary evening while sleeping the undertaker arose only to find his skull collection of gone missing a narrow passage way was leading to his room voices were once again to kill the undertaker shaken yet still he returned to his work a loud clapping noise was heard and the undertaker fell over there on the ground were the skulls all clasped together dripping blood a hand kept his from escaping only to encounter a blow to his head the creatures sucked his vile extremties through & through the undertaker was then no more