He is day-fraid to come out of the coffin;
he ain’t impervious as he is nightly.
He is afraid to come out of the coffin;
he is afraid to slum diurnally.

Slumbers, he snores, fellow’s up at night for gore.
He is a rip-your veiny, make-you drainee fellow croaked—er—not; neck’s bane, he,
And he snores ’cause cursed in day is he;
a strip-your veiny, make-you drainee fellow croaked—er—not; neck’s pain, he.
But in the coffin he must stay by day.

Dude seeks more; takes apart your neck for gore.

He ain’t afraid to come out when it opens—
got a damn squeaky hinge on the door.
It is neck frayed; blood come out when it opens,
and all those fat jugulars will be tore.

Dude seeks gore; makes your heart pump till no more.

He is a grip-your veiny, make-you drainee fellow croaked—er—not; neck’s gain, he.
Platelets whore, he’s a thirst for Type A.
A sip-your veiny, make-you drainee fellow croaked—er—not; neck’s bane, he.
You’re his blood bank if you don’t stay away.

Fools leak gore if at night they’re out the door.

Now, one of these days, we must seek out the coffin. . .
no need to ponder what we have to do,
’cause it’s during day when the bleeders we’re offin’
so the gore vittles churl is all through.

Dude seeks gore; stake his heart till he’s no more!

He was a lip-your veiny, make-you-drainee fellow croaked—er—not; neck’s bane, he.
That was yore, but his thirst went astray.
To stick this vein-feed, make-you-drainee. . .fellow’s croaked; sure got, dead. . .bane-free.
Now from the coffin, his dust blows away.

From the coffin to blood bank, bit,
from blood bank slit to the gore,
thug that gorged then got the offin’—
neck-parer now is no more.