When the lamp lighters light up the town, people should stay away, don't look on the pretty girls at the docks. No one notices that there are unusually more of them than anyone else, shops all owned by elderly couples, a sleepy seaside town on a dreary cemetery lake, the rest locked inside their coffins at night.
Shadows going forward, striped bathing costume, you think she likes you or fancies old, fat men? You see a blonde, small with delicate features, a prep school blazer, she has hatred in the vein, just like her mother. Bloodstream fountain that just wants to slit your throat, drink your blood.
They lower their heads and hiss when they see me. I walk as if I have my own private and perfumed breeze.
They hate me for what I did to one of my own. My excommunication from an ancient order. Raise a hand to me, it gets cut off. The head too. You're on my docks, don't ever forget it.