My false teeth were chattering

The noise was deafening, my ears were aching

The ambulance raced off, with lights flashing, and alarm bells ringing

Sounded like a screeching bat, exiting a cave

As these wingless rodents, charged toward a rave

My head flopped, with false teeth chattering

They were soon speeding through the graveyard

Crash bang wallop, they'd run over the Bard

They showed no compassion, or concern about where the sound emanated from

Only laughter ensued, don't worry it's probably just another peeping Tom

The ambulances tyre tread had surely marked his card

Whoever it was that said, once you're dead your dead, didn't know the Bard

He was up and running with one shake of his skinned head

Voices in the ambulance called out, let's get stoned

And in a few moments, they were discharging the methadone

Soon they were tripping, and flying to mars on my bed

The Bard was literally stripped to the bone

He'd called in the Calvary, using a funny tone

Like a fairground Whack-A-Mole, the zombies pop up in waves

The rotting flesh and bone, danced in joy upon their graves

It was the first-time in years they'd not been alone

It was going to be some party

Even the stoic Bard was getting hearty

I wasn't sure of my destiny, hot blood still flowed from my wound

But in the ambulance, I was still cocooned

However, that soon changed, following a charge from the eyeless Calvary

The Bard was back in charge, and boldly rode the remains of a cart horse

He tried to speak, but his throat was hoarse

With boney hands he undid the clasps, and at last I moved freely

He understood that I was no longer the enemy

There was no reason for him to give chase

For when I sat up, my empty carcass with drooping head, still lay flat upon the bed

Those narcotic paramedics had drained my last drop of red, and my mortal body now lay dead

As my distraught husband shouted, what have you done to my wife

I laughed so much, I nearly cried, it was the happiest day of my life

They had set me free from the torture of his bed

At last the little girl in me, was free to dance her heart away

Upon this earth you can stay, and for my soul you may pray

But in the haunted mansion I will happily remain, and divorce my mortal life

For there's not much worse than being your wife

The worst you can do, is to drag my empty carcass away

Foot Note: This is probably the first and last eight-stanza limerick I'll ever write.