Funeral Procession For A Vampire

Demons, beasts, and fiends gathered around,
The hour was late and well past sundown.
Far and deep to the edge of the wood,
Where a bleak old tomb stood.
Dead roses and carcasses placed all over the ground,
Where blood was poured all around.
And in the mist there lay a vampire,
Soon to be burned in a funeral pyre.
Over the sky flew at least then thousand bats,
And out of the tomb poured ravenous rats.
Then from the swamps came the undead,
Arms, hands, and faces stained blood red.
By the second hour the specters had arrived.
Followed by the werewolves blood thirsty and deprived.
At the third hour the imps began to chant,
From their mouth came the words lucrus-melan-cantant.
Then at once he burst into flame,
Never again would he look the same.
Back to t he earth from where he once came,
The only one left was his slayer to blame.