The sun rises, From beyond the horizon,
Birds start to sing their dawn chorus;
The funeral march of vampires.
That will forever protect us.
They lay buried deep,
Down within their graves,
Trying to ignore that symphony that would accompany their death,
And resist their bloody craves.
They lick their fangs in satisfaction,
Picking flesh from their teeth,
Smiling oh so smugly,
As the humans donít know what lies beneath.
The sun reaches its high point in the sky,
They are cramping up with blood lust,
The wait is almost agonising,
But they know that their fate would still be dust.
Enter the night,
They hear he cry of the baying wolf,
Thousands of clammy hands hurtle through the earth,
As they look for a human to engulf.