by Lisa Ben
Sleep, deep in your silent grave,
Dream of the crimson feast you crave,
‘Til hunger bids you wake
And you must forsake
The place where you have lain.
Dream, dream of your stealthy flight
Into the shadowlands of the night.
Sharp fangs meet soft white flesh
And you return refreshed.
Your lips a scarlet stain.
Sleep, sleep in your sombre bed.
Earth of your homeland above your head,
‘Til the moon on high
In the velvet sky
Will call you forth again.