| All the neighbours never see me
|
| But they wonder why I walk around at night
|
| He gets hungry — I go hunting
|
| In the moonlit streets
|
| For somebody that’s right
|
| Fresh blood, a sanguinary feast Is all he’s living for
|
| And he craves it more and more
|
| Showgirls, businessmen in suits in the midnight rain
|
| If they walk alone are never seen again
|
| In the paper, seems a florist
|
| Found in Lincoln Park, died of some anemia
|
| No one raped her, poor Doloris
|
| Just detained her and drained her on the spot
|
| Fresh blood, a sanguinary feast
|
| Is all he’s living for
|
| And he craves it more and more
|
| Old men, ladies of the night walking in the rain
|
| If they walk alone are never seen again
|
| Fresh blood it goes through me, flows through me
|
| Fresh blood inside of me, cry to me
|
| Fresh blood it goes through me, flows through me
|
| Fresh blood inside of me, cry to me
|
| No one calls and no one visits
|
| We’re like a couplet out of Desolation Row
|
| We don’t want them to want to know us
|
| 'Cause when they do, they get a little bit too close
|
| Fresh blood, a sanguinary feast is all I’m living for
|
| And I crave it more and more
|
| Bad girls, cops on the beat in the midnight rain
|
| If they’re out alone, are never seen again
|
| Fresh blood it goes through me, flows through me
|
| Fresh blood inside of me, cry to me
|
| Fresh blood it goes through me, flows through me
|
| Fresh blood inside of me, cry to me
|
| Fresh blood it goes through me, flows through me
|
| Fresh blood inside of me, cry to me
|
| Fresh blood it goes through me, flows through me
|
| Fresh blood inside of me, cry to me
|
| Fresh blood it goes through me, flows through me
|
| Fresh blood inside of me, cry to me, cry to me
|
| Fresh blood it goes through me, flows through me
|
| Fresh blood inside of me, cry to me, cry to me |