Everything was playing so “Gusto”
Like he became Heavenly blood brothers
“Maestro” at the London Metro.
Having hotter than hell fling
But people were more than blood things
Feeling like a substitute or big “Hero”
What happens to some of them
they weren’t waking or O or B- cups
drinking
But a style of panache
The style of grace or disgrace
showing deeper how it cuts
like the “Reaper” all circumstances
Fewer but true redder romances
the evidence got flown away
but miraculous something has to give
Like a stewed “Hungarian Goulash”
miracles time for hot fetishes
You just felt eclat what a cliche these Vampires and
their maidens. With the raw bite of her bodice
styles were becoming. But a bigger blood manner
was moving toward her so risque
Dances storing more blood trances
of a repertoire
Their necks were suffocating watching another
lover was mating like a web server
“The Others” were sleepwalking deserter
Like another language takes over
a code talking nevermore
Back to life a style forming another soul
to capture, but the wrong type of blood
failure whats to prevail?
Like self-murder so red
Vampire’s attached bloody email
Some were at the spa-like looking wolf-like
howling that strip of a face peel
so habitually like blood uses
The best collection of blood choices
So mainstream another erotic dream
Like a style or seeing hot gesture
So popular stream forevermore
At the concert, he noticed who she was
Knock dead bloody Tis the holiday features
That maestro what style Panache
Like a french Brulee bite of toast
He was the hot bloody roast he
got her blood the most
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