1. Page from an old lost journal
I have but an hour to write before i may have my final fight.
I feel him coming near in his heart i smell his fear.
But less of him this is my story so i will begin.
From dust till dawn is my time to rule,i roam the deserted street's seeking out their heat.
My lust is the taste of human blood,so wet and warm and sweet it nearly send's my head to sleep.
There warm flesh i detest for its something that i myself miss,my own is so cold and old.
I pity not for most are sinners,deep down in their soul's their wicked deeds are told.
I walk among the living,duty bound to be around not making one single sound.
No one is safe no matter what colour or race all are to my taste.
Now i write in haste in case i be late,the hunter is out there under the moon pretty soon he will meet his doom.