The echoes of my footsteps living
Into the silence of the corridors in which Vlad walked.
Caresses of my hands impressing
The church’s door which the Impaler blocked.
The touching of my lips embellished in the icons
In front of which Vlad often murmured prayers.
Into the orthodox exhilarating morning’s noises
Vlad’s enemies were killed and piled in layers.
And no more tales in this archaic night, my prince
The oath which I have taken in the Balkans is a bond
Vlad’s story is more terrifying than you think
No changes can be made by any magic wand.
That said, my darling Western prince, this night
Let’s live in the imagination of an Irish writer!
Bring costumes, lanterns, castles, and vampires,
Don’t be afraid, come to my room, I’m not a biter!
Or, am I?