The Microphones
Fist Beats Chest
While my body's fist beats chest
I scream triumphantly even in the gravest scenes
In graveyards, bodies hear my scream
There I can wake my zombie slumber
I come back to life and lumber
Through the village or wherever there's a treat for me

My reanimated self is flushed with showy health
As I tear across the grass to sleep and tackle you
And smother you with smacking sounds, unwrapped and new
Wrapped in glory, clear and brave
Looking gruesome and unshaved
I'll spend every morning coming back to life