3 Inches of Blood - The Phantom Of The Crimson Cloak
out of the fog comes a huddled shapecloaked head to toe in crimson flowing robesit hunts, kills, eatsunseen in sickening mists of night, some evils lurking in the gloomvoracious hunting appetite and piercing demon eyesa mandrake sets upon its prey, slashing mangled clawssoulstealer strangling terror, in crimson cloak it killsmortals who cross the paththe phantom hunts and killswith a swift ferocitythe demons carcass strikesdeath is his way, dare not to cross his path in frightcaptured by its frozen stare, your body drained of essencepredator of the pure in heart, sending all their soulds to hellthere is no escape from here, phantom horror attackhe must feedon innocent human fleshto hold the madness at baythat torments his eternal marchdeath is his way, dare not cross his paththe phantom of the crimson cloak stalks the dark and silent nightan ancient corpsehes trod this worn pathmany forlorn yearsaeons yet to comedeath is his way, dare not cross his paththe phantom of the crimson stalks the dark and silent night
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