In The Arms of Nosferatu

Through the forest of winter's breath, Whispers call from depths of death. Candles flicker, shadows wane, Echoes chant the ancient name. A crimson star above the trees, Blood and snow swept on the breeze. Silent hymns to darkened skies, Summon forth his timeless rise. In the arms of Nosferatu, Midnight's child, eternal hue. Cold embrace, the gift of night, Underneath the yuletide light. Bells may toll, but hearts grow still, As he comes to take his fill. Pine and myrrh disguise the scent, Of offerings their souls have lent. The fire burns but does not warm, A lullaby within the storm. The feast prepared, the door unsealed, The ancient bond is thus revealed. In the arms of Nosferatu, Darkest king, a curse renew. Winter's waltz, a hymn so cold, In his grasp, the tales unfold. Oh, holy night of Ashen Grace, A shadow's kiss, a deathless face. No sleigh nor saint shall cross this path, For he who comes brings not but wrath. In his arms