Death from the Dead

A tap on my door, I turn in my bed,
Cold shadows in the land of the dead.
Whispers of voices inside my head,
I am not me but he and we instead.

Footsteps in my parlor, a creaking door,
Death with it's innocent stalking odor.
Thousands of souls reaching up from the floor,
I somehow find I'm still needing more.

Ivy covered stone, a forgotten rock,
Nothing more than a good thick hard cock.
Momories of sadistic cries that I mocked,
Suprising to see that in fact was a shock.

A freshly dug grave, in a not so safe place,
A demon's wings with an angelic face.
Scents of his love that once filled this space,
So strong yet impossible to trace.

Sing this song, with it's unholy tune,
By the light of the stars, the newly made moon.
Dance this dark dance, sway and swoon,
And hope that Forever finds you soon.

Blood on my hands, blood on my lips,
A hunger, a thirst, a grinding of hips.
Not in a gulp but in tiny sips,
The warrior his arsonal fully equipped.

The devil on horses, a ride in the sky,
One last request before you shall die.
A whimper, a struggle, happy you cried,
Last visions of a hurtfilled begging eye.