Pale, pale, to the moon we hail, one foot in Hades, but the last drops of borrowed blood still prevails…for just few precious hours more.
It keeps us under darkness soft veils, scratching the tomb walls with our bloody, broken nails, waiting, until out once again…facing the ghastly act, the murderous game of hunter and pray or facing the darkness darker than death, we choose the first…and always will.
Midnight is an hour of sorrow, hour of cold fear and broken heart…when you afraid there’s no tomorrow and bare thought of death, makes you shiver inside.
Midnight is the time when we crawl, under the claw of lust burning us inside, guided by the fire more powerful than any ever inflamed by human hand…We fly on the heavy wings of dark, burning…
And you, you somewhere can feel the distant scent of our ash.
It fills you.
It fills your nostrils and mouth, until you can’t breathe no more…it fills your heart and lure your soul to our direction…and you swallow, you taking it in big gulps, eyes shining from desire to find us, to embrace us…
Already dead but yet unaware, focused only on one thought…to become ours.
So we reveal ourselves, to be found. Cold-blooded, undead, praying to feed this flame of hunger inside.
Find us in the dark, mortal child, face us, adore us…die in our arms.
Midnight sores…it burns, it scorches. It’s not something to be endured…we find and let be found, and we take.
Soft, living flesh of ripped lips…a kiss, a taste of bitter honey. A soft touch of skin on skin…eyes glazed with magic of the dark.
Desire, craving…beating of the warm hearth. Somewhere in the skeleton cage it hides. It calls…Sweet, so sweet and it almost melts the heart frozen in time…but almost can not save lives…”almost” is just a spider web of hope in the sea of shadows.
A long kiss and two bodies in the dance of death. The pleasure…short shine of fangs…lust and pain, bursting of the jugular vein…sweet taste of life, scarlet taste of death…without a cry, without another moan, you escape where we can’t go. We let you fall.
Under the shadows of death’s cloak, into the safety of bone hands, run and hide…we shall stay, on the other side.
The undead will undead remain, beyond the fear, with sorrow and pain…there’s no point in rising our hands or plead for mercy…it will stay the same.
So we walk away.
We stumble and fall through the sticks and stones which once broke our bones…we’re cut, bruised inside, but feel alive more than alive does.
And the eyes of the hunter shine.
Night is undead and night embraces its child.