Sargeist

On this night of a depressive autumn
Under branches of these old trees
On this hour thy sign I glorify
Black flame of satan in my heart
Fog is rising from the murky waters
Carrying the stench of of the swamp
An howl is hooting, sounding afar
As melancholy takes a grip
I drink the blood of a virgin child
From an old golden flask
In my mind the countess of cachtice