On cold, dark nights, he can be found,
hid from the lights, upon the ground,

With blood-shot eyes he stalks his prey,
no worldly-ties, no words to say,

His soul is locked beneath the soil,
his body trapped in endless toil,

He hungers for another life,
a chance to end his bitter strife,

Alas he must, and always shall,
remain a slave, an immor-tal,

His lust to kill, to drink the life,
with fangs that shame a hunter’s knife,

This want and need have all control,
and keep him from his mortal soul,

A slave to blood, to evil needs,
deprived of love, and all good deeds.

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