A ray of light pierces the murk of a dusty manor
As the hostess peeks through the crack of the door
Then vanishing into corners utterly pitch
And black

Escaping the impeding figure barely mortal
Unorthodox healer of the night air's squall
Shambling towards the porch, 
Wearing an overcoat waxen
And mask

Leathery boots creak on the ancient floor
Stopping before a bed covered in gore
Lifeless lumps burrowed under the blanket
And a bloodstained flask

With a cane
They poke to prevent the infected touch
Operating a syringe
They gather the blood contagious
As the hostess sneaks rake unsheathed
And ferociously stabs

Slaying the doctor weak and withered
Down the sanguine fluid slithered
But this was just the start of scourge
And endless mass

The old woman leaves the rake
She takes the broom
And so, nothing was spared
From impeding doom

"Mor, der kommer en gammel kjerring..."