Alternation

Shovels in hands, he has to be moved
His torment of land must be ended
Making their way into his grave
Will his betray be amended?

Deep in the ground, down in the dark
His body is found grim as dreaded
The repellent smell of moulder and rot
The odour of Hell from the wounded

Revolting and foul, decomposition
Still on the prowl, the departed
Fright in their eyes, task is commenced
His gruesome days will be ended