Run, Mortal, RUN!


Deep within that darkest hour
When vampires leave their eerie towers,
Banshees’ howling fills the night,
The undead rise, a fearful sight…

You mortals scatter far and wide,
So desperate to find a hide,
Footsteps echo close behind,
Terror fills your tiny mind…

On you run, eyes wide with fear,
The swirling mist creeps ever near,
You slip and slide across the mud,
Shadows chasing for your blood…

Cross a bridge, through the trees,
You trip and fall on hands and knees,
Your lungs are burning, out of breath,
And all around, the stench of death…

Hear the moaning of the ghouls,
The wailing of tormented souls,
Feel the draught of leathered wings,
The touch of putrid, gruesome things…

Legs so heavy, on you lurch,
Sanctuary, a gothic church,
Stumble on toward the nave,
Stagger past an open grave…

Icy fingers grasp your legs,
You fall, you scream, you sob, you beg,
You kick and claw for all you’re worth
But can’t escape that pull to earth…

Then on your neck, the foetid hiss
Of Nosferatu’s deadly kiss,
The gargoyles grin and dip their heads,
They count... the seconds…‘til…you’re...dead...

by Baz L. Zebub, 1982 - (pre-Thriller, Michael Jackson!)