He comes,
In blood red overcoat and fedora,
The ultimate vampire,
A count of the night,
Now a leashed hellhound,
The charge of Sir Hellsing,
And subject to her majesty,
Hunting his own kind,
By bullet or blood magic,
The things that go bump in the dark,
Get bumped right back,
Even in the most inky of nights,
He comes.
WorldofHarley 