Under The Sign Of The Red Dragon

I raise my eyes at dead of night
I hear the silence moulding my body
I hear the damp and living ground throbbing
I belong to it
I’m the guardian of this land
I’m Dracula, Prince of Walacchia
My name is synonymous with fear and terror
Which I sowed and grew and which I fed on
I led an army of dead soldiers
That I myself had raised from their graves
I spread death and destruction
Stifling smell of blood and excrements
Desperate cries, sobs
Thousands of corpses rotted in the sun
Thousands of poles rose as I passed
My head beheaded and laid down
The law: my law
I was Vlad, the Impaler
Nobody could obstruct my path
And the powerful Turks come in crowds
And the new forest came up
Forest of fright and blood
And the sultan of gold and silk
Came with his numerous army
Thousand of persons were horribly impaled
And crowds came, crowds of enemies
And at the end I was surrounded
Chill, blood, horror of an irrepressible slaughter
By then I was a prince without land
And from the ground a whisper
The whisper of the dead, rose:
«Dracula, please, come back!»