It is a night of blood, a song of darkness, wolves vent their pain.
The beautiful one rises.
Mist shrouds her pale form, an everlasting fear.
Her inky black hair cascades over
fragile milk-white shoulders, and her full blood red lips part slightly, to taste the life streaming from the pale flesh beneath her.
Now a night of darkness, I remember her.
*i made this up from a gothic poem site very good indeedy >www.deadlongue.com*
