Bats have a belfry view
And hear the chimes.

Saw logs. . .they're comin' after you.
They are flyin'
Toward you, flyin'.

On you they have landed;
They start to chow down
On your veins, so sanguine,
So salubriousness won't be found.

They've come to relish you,
Ready to dine. . .
Tooth tines.

In they flew,
Toothy crew,
To chew you,
You turn blue--auf Deutsch, "blau."
You they don't spare
You've gone from rosy
To sickly grau. . .
"Symphonie. . ."

Then like Nosferatu,
You rise to dine

[fade on sound of carotid being sucked]