At the Window of the Night

A shadow moves where moonlight dares not fall,

On crooked roofs and silent, empty streets;

Its fingers clutch at hearts that fear the call,

While distant church bells mourn their lonely beats.

Count Orlok comes, with visage pale as death,

Eyes sunken deep as crypts beneath the ground;

He tastes the night, he whispers with a breath,

And terror blooms where once was gentle sound.

Through Wisborg’s town, the plague of longing spreads,

As Ellen waits, a candle in her hand;

She knows the doom that walks where angels tread,

Yet still she stands, defiant where he stands.

The dawn may rise, yet darkness lingers near,

For Nosferatu thrives where shadows leer.