Sweet matrimony, the smell of wine in the air under these starlit skies.
The bride and the nightshade devouring her cyanide like cheap champagne and lies.
Silver serpents dance to the ballads composed by the everlasting wraiths.
As the congregation, the living fire rise from the celebration in all their faiths.
We raise to the moon the keys to our throats.
It unlocks the breathe spellbound to our lungs.
Finally we can meet again the banshee would wail.
Wake up, wake up! The silent maiden she calls, dressed in red and shrouded dusk.
Her vision is blurred and the pain is sharp as the aroma fades in of violet and musk.
Oh my whispers could not wait longer, my dear we are here to meet again.
Quiet, hush dear, the taste, the wonder of atropa belladonna in your tea.
We raise to the moon the keys to our throats.
It unlocks the breathe spellbound to our lungs.
Finally we can meet again the banshee would wail.
This is the truth of the vampire of security.
He drains the blood in a place bound to screams.
The charm and the essence will no longer save you,
The rain cannot save you now.
Silence for now and cry in your sleep,
We are the necrotic and shall never weep.
Dream of the days where the blades would cut deep.
But silence, for now, and cry in your sleep.
