by Nick Gisburne
I know you think it’s easy to be me
A vampire, with the secrets of the dead
Tomorrow, when you’re hanging from a tree
Suppose I put a question in your head
If I were just as hideous as you
A crawling, creeping, waste of human skin
What then? What magic would you have me do
To join the cold collective of my kin?
You covet all the glamour of my race
The sweet, hypnotic energy we bleed
But study the reflection of your face
It’s not the kind of nightmare that we need
You look as though your flesh already died
You want to be immortal? No. Denied
