Stink of old meat on the wind Rotten and cloying Something moves through the long grass it sees you Through holes in ancient skin like leather Breaking into a sprint while it mumbles And croons through A wound where a head should be Heed The cries of the rot Walker It never sleeps forever wandering restlessly searching for face it remembers but can never have Every witness Spurs the beast With mistaken hope until it realizes that the new face doesn't feel right