My father is not some fiery prince
I wear no fangs or red eyes
Mirrors and daylight are silly lies
In all those stories you spread about me
No magic, no covens and terror
I walk among you as one of you
Never kill your food
Violence is a mark of the Dump
I live for the sting and the cascades
That wash the back of my throat
I live for the flood of the red
Flowing down and quenching the thirst
To pass the aeons of solitary fate
I sometimes write the stories
That tell more about your lazy minds
Than about the predator like me.
I live for the sting and the cascades
That wash the back of my throat
I live for the flood of the red
Flowing down and quenching the thirst
