Counter-culture souls who claim legacies of evil,
Dreams all spent wasted on fantasies of darkness.
Living lost lives through the books of anne rice,
Worshipping authors who had nothing to say,
Except for an allegiance to the almighty dollar,
Subcultural pap is the easiest pay,
Who turned the pathetic wastes of their lives into the greatest
Gothic novels of all time.
Theatrical 'magick' such a charming facade,
Behind which i find a shivering worm,
A sickly complexion,
Just a risk for infection,
At first i mistook you for a victim of aids.
For fake fangs do not a vampire make nor a full moon a werewolf to be,
Just insecure bisexuals worshipping gods born on silver screens or the cable tv,
You haven't got one on immortality,
You're going to perish just like all human kind...

Since the dawn of time ...
There have been the shadow-people,
Lusting for the darkness,
Eternally mastering their own extinctions,
Savoring the romance of death and pain.
It's no more than a punk rock fuck thing,
Based upon the psycho-sexual allegiance of willing prey to the blood-sucking hunter, feel false sorrows,
O fantasy ghouls,
You second-rate stars of hollywood worlds,
Sickly and weak can you deny still yourself the contempt of a world so much more vicious than you?

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