From Shakespeare’s Macbeth:

Out, out, brief candle!
Life’s but a walking shadow.
A poor player, that struts and frets his hour upon stage...
And then is heard no more.
It is a tale told by an idiot.
Full of sound and fury
…Signifying……Nothing!!

Verse 1:
It's the insurrection. With a verse… a vivisection.
Overcome and consume: the fear infection.
Exhumed from tombs, we’re the resurrection…
The ancestral dead. We crush your head!
Reemerge, surge and purge, those
geriatrics, with crap rap theatrics,
and attack these tactics… of expired
tired, tepid, flaccid actors.
…The one-time contenders: now a
crumbled rep, a bumbled rap and no skills.
Foes killed, and feasted on with fury
by the hypothalamus, hippocampus stampers.
… And the fanbase clings on.
How many times can they pine for lines you used to
sting on? Sting from the lacerations.
Slash a fascination with your dead past!
… At last, the dead walk again.
Chase the wasting… mmm brains for the tasting.
Deranged with the fame contagion.
The strain of ages awakes the sages.
Admit, your shit? …shit!
Hanging on to a long-gone former hit.
Some form of fit. Apoplectic delusion,
Abused through your frontal lobe contusions.
Choose your pathogen! Pathetic it
happens the pattern is… it's always that again.
… With no attack in them. A lack in awareness.
A careless degradation. A ruination of a name.
The lame and irrelevant:
Relegated to relics. A whisper of better days.
Blaze the plague of the golden aged.
... Beware the walking dead invasion.


Verse 2:
Pay your respects! You owe your name… it's clear.
Revere the one who laid you cold, made you whole:
Attest… The Insane MacBeth.
Arise. Ever alive... Judge death!
Divest of flesh. Fair is foul, Foul is fair
where mortal coils unwind, and resign
to the relentless soul with the ferocious goal:
Unleash the dungeon funk.
So, walk in fear. Do not deceive yourself.
Dodge, elude, evade, and fret but
the MacBeth death touch eviscerates the fate of
the vet lepers. The bellicose back steppers.
Let a line decompose your mind.
Melt to madness. Your badness undefined.
As he climbs the ladder, to eternal Jehna:
Brief candle... Out! … but brother forever.
… In a way, they asked for this.
From past to piss poor. Poor you.
Cannot cure you of the disease of dead men
Walking… Shadow… The Master… Mortis!
Talk shit? Hush! Crush your shell to dust.
One less snail in this tale of these idiots.
Insidious fuss, signifying… nothing!!
Snuffing your candle. We handle your bluffing.
Enough of this feeble fakery.
Strut, fret, yet your tries are emesis.
Arise the nemesis. Venomous emphasis.
… Kinetic effect and Mo Rock render this
with animus. Must be put to rest
lest decay surrounds sounds of their let downs.
As you're set down and let go… know we are legend!
… The walking dead have entered.