When the hour is late,
I stand beside a gate
And wait for men to journey into sleep.
I make my way along the lane,
Listening to their hearts' refrain
Choosing which one's life to take and keep.

A strong and willing lad?
A widow, old and sad?
A girl with flesh so tender and so white?
When I sing to one and all,
They must heed my urgent call
And feel, upon their neck, the blissful bite.

I wander with the fog.
I calm the guarding dog,
And through a window's glass I can espy
A ripe and luscious girl,
Pale breast and chestnut curl.
Tonight, in my embrace, this girl will lie.

I rise up, straight and tall.
Send out my silent call.
Disturb her sleep with orders of my making.
Walking 'cross the floor,
She opens up her door,
And stands there - ready for the taking.

Across the floor I glide
Taking her aside
And laying her, back down, across the bed,
On her neck I place my lips
Two tender, piercing nips.
Sighing in the ecstasy of the red.

Sweet and scarlet flood.
Hot and pulsing blood.
Warming and refreshing to my core.
She whimpers at my caress,
Her movements now are less,
Until, at last, she moves and breathes no more.

Above her form I tower,
Full within my power,
My eyes red,
Blazing as hot coals.
I'm the Hunter in the Night.
The crimson, piercing light.
The Hunger,
That feeds upon mens' souls.

Penned by my hand on the 4th of Phaestian, in the year 378 AF.