Night falls upon our village
Our children lays to sleep
Grandfather tells the story
The myth of Elisabeth Bathory

She is still inside my dreams
She still feeds my fear
I can still smell the corpse
I can still hear their screams

ch: I was there the night she arrived
The first in an endless line
What I saw that stormy night
Was not meant for mortal eyes

In the depths of her cold dungeon
A maiden of peasant blood
Drained of holy life
To please the countess of blood