Imprimir Erzsébet by Tristan Robert Lange

Look at my aging hands,
See how old and wrinkled,
How decrepit they are becoming.
The sins of my family run deep.
Greed and power have cursed
The blood that flows in me.
I think I shall bathe tonight.
I can see what I am destined for.
I am death’s rotting whore.
The maggots will burrow in me,
Eating my flesh like carrion.
It is inevitable, I too shall die
Just as my kin before me.
Have the servants prepare my bath.
Last night I fucked another man,
Let him put himself inside me,
He ravaged my body like a storm.
They all want me, long for me;
They all want to fuck me
For my station, never for my beauty.
Tonight I shall bathe with virgins.
My fading beauty is haunting me,
It consumes my every thought.
I need virgins, more and more virgins,
I need to draw my bath deep
So that my sinful, shameful body
Can be restored to its once rosy hue.
I shall bathe in many beautiful virgins.
I shall be covered, soaked in their blood.
I shall bathe, my tub stained crimson red,
Filled with the life of countless virgins.
Tonight I shall bathe in the blood
For the blood is the life, my life.
Men shall know me and want me.
They shall desire me and fear me.
They shall fuck me and ejaculate
On my blood-soaked skin
And I shall own them all
With my restored, youthful beauty.
Men shall hear my name,
They shall quiver at its sound.
Their wives shall fear my name,
They shall turn green with envy
At the one who owns their men.
Their virginal daughters shall not sleep
In their beds at night, not a wink,
For they shall know that danger lurks,
That their lives are forfeit,
That their blood will one day
Fill the porcelain tubs
Of their countess
Erzsébet.