Dead We Are Not!

The moon it is falling, behind the trees,

The first chill of dawn blows like breath in the breeze;

The tomb awaits you, your sepulchral sleep,

A babe in the womb of the earth six feet deep.

The victims are drained of their precious red wine; the world is your oyster,

All women are thine; all of the men too, as their bodies do twist,

Into pretzels of pain in the dank morning mist.

The Vampire returns to his worm-crusted bed,

To sleep among bones in the forests of the dead;

In the stinking old yards of crumbling stone,

Where the dead grip the dead in an embrace of bone.

And the mist it is lowering like lambs cross the earth,

To celebrate vampire babes at their birth;

To bleat for the blood is the life of the beast;

To succor their bellies on the hot vino feast.

For the blood is the life don't you know it is true?

And the earth will embrace you when your body turns blue;

And the hot wind of Hell may take you were it fain;

To a realm full of shadow, and a world beyond pain.

So come with us living dead, come with us all;

To the shadowed ballet where bones clack in the hall,

And our skulls fill with tears, oh so red and so hot,

For living, we aren't, but DEAD WE ARE NOT.

(Nighty-nightmares.)