Transnational Vampire Killers

Shrouded in plastic it moves through soft moon streets hunting on the unsuspecting

who have no previous exposure to the art of carving stakes welcomed in sits force-feeding charm but when it leaves emptiness hits nothing is left. Every hearts a hammer and every day is a stake. Demons sing of reformation, but we'll swing this monster into dust.

There's something as previous as blood it's the dimension that motion rests on.

It's what actions count on and enables progression hardly subtle.

Cloaked in language like institution, entertainment, career, employment, fashion.

Bloody mouths sing words like independence, revolution, self expression, success,

all to sink its teeth and reel us in. Hold on to me and hold on to me time.

Hardly symbolic parasitic leeches sleeping in mausoleums and we're collecting a series of inactions every second a million chances gone a million successes evaporate

into failure a million glass windows and no bricks thrown a million bricks

and no "kill vampires" inked on the walls hold on to me tight time. The prey freezes recognizes a face that has no name it hits been drunk dry and now I'm bones and skin allusive and overfed it crouches forever smiling feeding on the network of wrists discrete as disease as day hits backs away from the light spinning like surgeons. Of thee I sing immortality is open to discussion this thing that feeds you that has no stationary heart will only stop bleeding when vampires die.