Bathory

Stolen from their once safe beds.
Only to be beaten and scarred ’til death.
And no one wanted to say a word.
Then one day voices were finally heard.
Investigation into the claims of pain.
Accounts scrawled across journals most insane.
Sentencing heard from three hundred souls.
Claims that more than double had been felled.

Countess of blood,
You pretended to be misunderstood.

Virgin blood used to extend your youth.
None of that has been confirmed with proof.
Just a psycho with an addiction.
Loved delivering pain and affliction.
Young women sliced away from life.
Torture and mutiliation was rife.
Not an ounce of remorse did flow.
Up to the day you died in that cell so…

Countess of blood,
You were never misunderstood.

Sick twisted soul that held power.
All these souls you did devour.
Violence was your source of joy.
Used these people just like a toy.
Cast them out still with thirst.
You’d have murdered all of Earth.
Stripped young ladies down to bone.
While you sat grinning upon your throne.

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