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All the neighbors never see me |
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But they wonder why I walk around at night |
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He gets hungry, I go hunting |
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In the moonlit streets for somebody that's right |
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Fresh blood, a sanguinary feast is all he's living for |
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And he craves it more and more |
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Show girls, businessmen in suits in the midnight rain |
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If they walk alone are never seen again |
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In the paper, seems a florist |
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Found in Lincoln Park, died of some anemia |
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No one raped her, poor Dolores |
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Just detained her and drained her on the spot |
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Fresh blood, a sanguinary feast is all he's living for |
|
And he craves it more and more |
|
Old men, ladies of the night walking in the rain |
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If they walk alone are never seen again |
|
Fresh blood it goes through me, flows through me |
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Fresh blood inside of me, cry to me |
|
Fresh blood it goes through me, flows through me |
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Fresh blood inside of me, cry to me |
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No one calls and no one visits |
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We're like a couplet out of desolation row |
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We don't want them to want to know us |
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'Cause when they do, they get a little bit too close |
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Fresh blood, a sanguinary feast is all I'm living for |
|
And I crave it more and more |
|
Bad girls, cops on the beat in the midnight rain |
|
If they're out alone, are never seen again |
|
Fresh blood it goes through me, flows through me |
|
Fresh blood inside of me, cry to me |
|
Fresh blood it goes through me, flows through me |
|
Fresh blood inside of me, cry to me |
|
Fresh blood it goes through me, flows through me |
|
Fresh blood inside of me, cry to me |
|
Fresh blood it goes through me, flows through me |
|
Fresh blood inside of me, cry to me |
|
Fresh blood it goes through me, flows through me |
|
Fresh blood inside of me, cry to me, cry to me |
|
Fresh blood it goes through me, flows through me |
|
Fresh blood inside of me, cry to me, cry to me |
