Zombie Farmer's Market

 I'm at the Zombie farmers market

And they're all selling pickled brains

Brains in glasses darkened

Like looking down a darkened lane

Gherkins of amygdalas

Wishbone corpus callosums

Thin films of the meninges

Hanging like dried vellum

All the riddled, addled roots

All the winding passages

All the folds so manifold

Look like pale moon sausages

Oh so mouth watering

Such victual prospects make them slaver

And along the saliva soaked pavements

The Zombie Farmers gather

Ooh Ahh and lookie 'ere

And I'll 'ave ee one of 'ee pickled brain chutneys

Give me a swallow of a skull not hollow

I'll drink down the fluids, bloods and the discharge

It all looks so horrid, yellow green spew rancid

Butter wouldn't melt in their throat if they had one

But what surprises me most is how restrained they all are

That's how you know they were or are the landed gentry

It's all in the breeding you see

This Zombie life is Country Life magazine

With one shotgun slung

Nonchalantly over an arm

And a bloodhound at his knee

A beagle at baye, bugler in the hay

And the Irony is the Zombie Farmers

They don't even look grey

A bit wet round the gills maybe

Some a bit yellow say

Jaundiced probably lacking in Iron

Some of them missing a liver

But The Lord gives and he takes away they say

Any way He does on Zombie Farmer's Market day