The rebirth of a cursed existence
Unfolding unto time again
Cruelty of the blackest Countess
Conjured of old grim tales
Macabre visions excavated
Screams and blood, the Silverclaw
In her dungeons of darkness
Burning miserable fates
Faces twisted of horror
Youthfull glow will shine no more
Children blood from a golden flask
So orgasmic and exquisite
Writhing bodies turning pale
The Countess drinks from the stream
Throats slit open giving vent
For cold to enter, blood to flow
The tales, the legend and the memory
Would have disappeared since long
But in the cemetarical entity
Are reborn and howled in the night
The Countess of Cachtice
From a dark burning past
The priest had died one night ago
Announcing her rebirth