An Ode To The Zombie Orc

An Ode To The Zombie Orc

Oh zombie orc, why doth thou wield
Thy axe wrong, 'pon the orcen field?

Oh zombie orc, why doth thou groan,
And strike us as you shuffle and moan?

You do like all good zombies do,
But with an axe and oozing goo,

A red the color of magma veins
And o'er your buttocks, ragged trains

Of clothing from a bygone time,
faded, stained, and thick with grime.

Your rotting skin is green and brown,
Your fanged mouth a stony frown.

Your mutilated face we fear,
Until, intrepid, stocked with gear,

We fight and level all night long
So we can become fast and strong.

Where would we be without your stride
To keep your oafish, bovine pride

And swing your weapon the wrong way
In your feeble zombie sway?

Nowhere, one can be assured:
For killing you must be endured

To be quite able to move on
And fight in Niffle till the dawn.

So, I conclude, our trust you've earned;
Your zombie love is all returned...

And though the skellies crack and fuss,
All your exp are belong to us.