What is it that these fiends that stalk the night's streets
Find of pleasurable interest in me?
An undead opium addiction
And the den is dark and hazy and they're all falling to their knees
In lust for a blood that so excites them
How they scream in inspired ecstasy
So poorly imagined
They're never going to realise their savage aspirations
For they will never share my blood or inclinations
How do they presume to know what is crawling
In the caverns and the tunnels of my mind?
What is it in a tortured soul they find so enticing?
Why do they possess such obsession with my kind?
Do they desire that as I stroll
Beneath black clouds and a pregnant moon
That I should pause and think of them
That day creeps upon me all too soon
That I crave company in kind or from an understanding source?
But life's not in the blood
It's not a feeling that can be forced
For it's resting in the consciousness of the awakened mind
And as they sit and dwell on me; it's no true likeness that they see
For they are blind
For in the shadows I have a home and how it shields me
It's no cold comfort yet they try to liberate me
What is it they could offer me
Some safety yet to be conceived
That would surely, ultimately betray me?
What is it that keeps them coming
Begging always for ever more
Writing for their passions that so incite them
Yet to me remain a bore?
Oh I'm forever caught in debt to those fragile creatures
With their slowing feet and delicate hemal features
But my continued existence
Has been less with a feeble pretence
And is in fact more deeply rooted
In the black clothes and leather booted
Visage that I present
That I no longer need resent
For it conceals and keeps within
The human soul I cage within
That somehow seeks to fuel me
Though it still painfully immures me
And I am left in halfway ventures
With fans analysing my misdemeanours
With a lustful gaze and hope still evident
Are they such fools that they ignore
The very darkness at my core
That would consume their desperation
For sheer spite and recreation
For hunger burns no more within me
For I have exceeded the amount to sustain me
But think then, why, would one such as I
Desire company in the night
I may yet find a reason to go and perish
Death's a luxury that I could cherish
Given such priceless opportunity
And it would be my fortuity
But that is not for one such as I;
I am not destined to die
And they will haunt me in the graveyards
They will stalk me in the night
But know that now I'm right beside them
I need no magic to hide from sight
And the literature that gives them freedom will now burn
For it has spurned the very heart of my poor life
I am not an object to be admired
I am no fantasy or mythical beast
I am a deathly apparition
That cares for human kind the least.
