| Sitting up in bed when the sun sets
|
| The room is such a mess
|
| Keep it darker than the crypt
|
| Rumble in my stomach
|
| Wreak of garlic and incense
|
| Stumble from the bed
|
| I dreamed of monsters again
|
| Sharpen my instruments
|
| As part of my dilligence
|
| Polishing springs and pins
|
| Hardens the killer instinct
|
| Darkness slips in
|
| I stalk them in the mist
|
| And walk the empty city
|
| Looking for my nemesis
|
| I’m a vampire hunter. |
| A bounty killer
|
| I know my way around and I’m bound to deliver
|
| I’ve lived among the parasites for more than half my life
|
| Studied their evil habits, patterns and appetites
|
| I’m a Hunter
|
| Land in the city with a caravan of gypsies
|
| Who hand me crucifixes and whisper their superstition
|
| I keep it moving in tune with the moon’s position
|
| Setup with a smooth precision
|
| Every night’s a new mission
|
| I lift the lids of these stale boxes of dirt
|
| Because I put stake in heart
|
| And faith in hard work
|
| Now watch their snake eyes
|
| Awake in surprise as they die
|
| Cut out the heart and burn it at the graveside
|
| Say goodbye
|
| I’m saving lives and the pay is fine, besides
|
| The truth is I get a thrill
|
| When it comes to the killing time
|
| I’m a vampire hunter. |
| A bounty killer
|
| I know my way around and I’m bound to deliver
|
| I’ve lived among the parasites for more than half my life
|
| Studied their evil patterns, habits and appetites
|
| I’m a Hunter
|
| They’re not human
|
| Not the people you remember
|
| They are the undead, The beast, The cannibal, The predator
|
| They are disease, They feed off death
|
| But there’s a sacred mutilation
|
| That will lay them to rest
|
| You need a vampire hunter, a bounty killer
|
| Who knows his way around and is bound to deliver
|
| Who’s lived among the parasites for more than half his life
|
| Studied their evil patterns, habits and appetites
|
| «I wear my sunglasses at night,»
|
| I don’t know why
|
| I’m just sensitive to the light
|
| When I was young I had
|
| Such a strong sense of wrong and right
|
| Them days are gone
|
| Life is long, not forever
|
| Right? |
| (right.)
|
| These silver bullets pack a helluva bite
|
| But I ain’t never been the sucka type
|
| (still i get bloody like)
|
| The incident that happened down in Exeter town
|
| Where the daughter of George Brown
|
| Wouldn’t rest in the ground
|
| We had a posse of men
|
| Even the Providence Press
|
| Dug up the body
|
| And cut out the black heart from her chest
|
| Less than a month later
|
| Her older brother was dead
|
| And I was wanted by the court
|
| To explain what I did
|
| So
|
| I ran away and hid in the next city
|
| But something of the strange events must’ve stayed with me
|
| Made me face the mirror for a moment to question
|
| Imagine my surprise when I saw
|
| No reflection |