Underground_Network
May 10th, 2010, 03:01 PM
Zombie Cop
Red and blue lights
In the distance.
It must be the zombie cop;
Repetitive tasks left undone,
He left an office job
At the age of twenty-three,
He pulls me over every day,
I can’t help but speed,
It helps my vernacular.
Or is that not a disease?
I always blamed the flow of words
On a dictionary, but dictionaries
Can’t talk, though canaries can,
They speak one thousand words
Without ever twisting their necks
All the way around, like a snowy owl does.
No, he won’t listen to me blabber,
He just writes me a ticket
As his fleshy white skin fades in
And his skull protrudes outwards into the
Crisp winter air, putting into view a chip
In the back of his head
Where his brain used to be.
Red and blue lights
In the distance.
It must be the zombie cop;
Repetitive tasks left undone,
He left an office job
At the age of twenty-three,
He pulls me over every day,
I can’t help but speed,
It helps my vernacular.
Or is that not a disease?
I always blamed the flow of words
On a dictionary, but dictionaries
Can’t talk, though canaries can,
They speak one thousand words
Without ever twisting their necks
All the way around, like a snowy owl does.
No, he won’t listen to me blabber,
He just writes me a ticket
As his fleshy white skin fades in
And his skull protrudes outwards into the
Crisp winter air, putting into view a chip
In the back of his head
Where his brain used to be.