Well, when it’s night they’ll arise to go dining
on your heart, ’cause they ain’t eating lite.
They’ll find that your two eyeballs are tasty!
They’re planning to take a bite.

Yeah, the warmth of your thighs has them yearning—
oh so thrilled at the noshing delight.
Into one of them you will be turning
if you get away, bit just a mite.

So after you’ve metamorphosed discretely,
you’ll be seeking to suck neck of Sue.
You will glom onto her like a sweet pastry:
a lurid snack will ensue.

You won’t vanquish them, like in the movies
with stake or silver bullet or two.
And you will have no time to tweet hasty
to cops ere that petit chew.

Then you’re damned and a bane; folks’ll scorn ya;
you’ll furtively lurk nocturnally downtown.
You’ll find yourself getting much stronger
and baying like a damned hound.

Then as the clock approaches morning,
you won’t want to be around,
Now the sun you will always be scorning,
but when nighttime arrives, you’ll rebound.

Someone’s body will part with a liver;
that and other organs you will get.
So one by one you’ll rip out, chew—tasty!
This is a terrible fress!!

They’ll run you down, bane, you ain’t deathless—
for example, felled by a head shot, yeah.
natives don’t like ghouls, and they’re restless
you, luckless ghoul wasted by some lead hot.
Shite out o’ luck, you’re brought down.