My soul is dead
My blood is no longer red
My heart is blankly plain
I can no longer feel pain
From a demons life
They can never have a husband or wife
They die sad
and their souls are mad
We are sometimes good
And misunderstood
We are ready to fight
And we fly at night
Our lives are hard
Our hearts are played like cards
Our hearts are pure
But the death is not cured
We have to hunt
And we sometimes feed off of runts
But loathe the banquette in which pre force
Must feed this livid living corpse