I raise my eyes at dead of night
|
I hear the silence moulding my body
|
I hear the damp and living ground throbbing
|
I belong to it.
|
I'm the guardian of this land,
|
I'm Dracula, Prince of Walacchia.
|
My name is synonymous with fear and terror
|
which I sowed and grew and which I fed on.
|
I led an army of dead soldiers
|
that I myself had raised from their graves.
|
I spread death and destruction.
|
Stifling smell of blood and excrements,
|
desperate cries, sobs.
|
Thousands of corpses rotted in the sun.
|
Thousands of poles rose as I passed.
|
My head beheaded and laid down.
|
The law: my law.
|
I was Vlad, the Impaler,
|
nobody could obstruct my path.
|
And the powerful Turks come in crowds.
|
And the new forest came up,
|
forest of fright and blood.
|
And the sultan of gold and silk
|
came with his numerous army,
|
thousand of persons were horribly impaled
|
and crowds came, crowds of enemies.
|
And at the end I was surrounded.
|
Chill, blood, horror of an irrepressible slaughter.
|
By then I was a prince without land.
|
And from the ground a whisper,
|
the whisper of the dead, rose:
|
"Dracula, please, come back!"
|
|
-----------------
|
Under The Sign Of The Red Dragon
|
| Opera Ix |
