Minutes to hours Long live the night! Drink of your blood Won't go down without a fight Here's to the nightowls Those few who fight back All embrace your kinship All knowing your kiss of bitter black And while the weaklings they all slup No the few, the proud, with eight odd cups In thier stomachs sloshing, churning Twilight to Starlight they watch the night turning And in their eyes a godlike burning Never give up ('least not 'til mourning)
