I will meet you beyond the dead-ends of autumn, where the doctors save not, and the buildings have crumbled. And, I shall lead or follow your steps, be it tango, jig, or waltz.
And there, in the graveyards of the world, we shall embrace, and my lips shall drop to your neck, and taste blood. And, when my dagger flashes in the moonlight, and then plunges into your heart, your screams shall echo out over the deserted streets.
You shall receive your unholy life on that night. I shall laugh and cry to know that you are mine, and we shall take our thrones in a dark-place in the sewers, among the worms that gnaw and the ghouls. And, when you look with glowing red-eyes to the surface, where the leaves blow from tomb to tomb, you shall laugh from the dead-ends of autumn, and quaff wine from a cracked cup that shall never be mended.
And our servants, the ghouls will fawn and hoover at our feet.
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