Vampires

The old books tell of how the werewolf came

With white fangs gleaming redly in the night

Of evil things that haven't any name

That cannot bear the searching rays of light

They tell of unknown horrors deadly deeds;

Of vampires who can leave their coffin bed

And fly abroad to satisfy their needs

With human blood So age-old books have said

There still are vampires walking on our ways

Not creatures from the grave but men who live

On someone else's heart's blood all their days