searching for my beloved one, under a blood red moon. in wide open hills,
where the cold winds blow. i sense him, near, coming soon, as a shadow
strikes down upon my face from above.
wicked pyres stalking the cold winter night, guided by the l-stfull
smell of young maidens bathed in pale moonlight. innocent beauties
with filthy fantasies, waiting for the bite. not unlike suicidals in
the shadow of the grim reaper’s scythe.
strong gently hands takes mine, shaking with bliss. taking me to his
castle complies with my every plea. where my bethrothed gives me the
final kiss, before he, with shining eyes is penetrating me.
spellbound by the howling sound of the lonesome wolf’s cry at the moon,
shining in the dark, yet open sky. the bishop asks his weak lord the
resigned question why, as he helplessly watches youth and purity die.
a majestic figure with redness in his eyes, laughing spitefully at the
frightened priest’s pathetic cries. pervertive slaughter under aristocratic
guise. the black count smiles, licks the blood of his lips.
a preachers demise.
he was named dracula, said to be devil blessed. great powers of darkness
he posessed. pale skin of my neck he caressed. sweet tasting blood of mine
made him obsessed.
welcome to this dark empire of mine, transilvanian hills. to my blood
stained coffin, made from skulls of holy men that i have killed.
faithfull desiples of god, with a lack of own free will.
who visited my castle of mystic darkness and blood dripping thrills.