Varcolaci

The moon rises, dripping blood in the astral sky

my grave is opened... flesh becomes nothing

the cold of the grave entices the warm flesh towards us

I leave my grave shroud on the tomb

hunting the life in the form of the wolf

the bat banner of my house is highest in night

from which know the blood bathes

the wisdom of Lilith and the lust of Cain

such is and shall always be

the flesh tears under our hooks and stakes

youth exists in our morbid kiss

knowing the grave flesh, cold grip of life

then you know our darkness

I shall return to the tomb, shrouded in the grave cloth

awaiting night again... our darkside symphony

written in the blood of the sleeping