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The dead bell, The dead bell. Somebody's done for.
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Everything in life is writable about if you have the outgoing guts to do it and the imagination to improvise.
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So daddy, I'm finally through. The black telephone's off at the root, The voices just can't worm through. If I've killed one man, I've killed two -- The vampire who said he was you And drank my blood for a year, Seven years, if you want to know. Daddy, you can lie back now. There's a stake in your fat black heart And the villagers never liked you. They are dancing and stamping on you. They always knew it was you. Daddy, daddy, you bastard, I'm through.
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Black and stiff, but not a bad fit. Will you marry it?
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the woman in the ambulance Whose red heart blooms through her coat so astoundingly—
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