They Feed At Night. A Wretched Thing. Zeneszám

Slaughtered mess on my front porch
Dead neighbor screaming
A faceless child in the street
A funeral for every morning

Awoken in a puddle of blood
Naked and confused
It isn?t his blood, it isn?t her blood
He is the killer, the wolf

Not a man!
A wretched thing


There is nowhere in the night
To search for blood,
To live my wretchedness,
To craft my killings,
To live a life of torment

Not a man!
A wretched thing