[by Bauhaus]



White on white

translucent black capes

back on the rack.

Bela Lugosi's dead.

The bats have left the bell tower,

the victims have been bled,

red velvet lines the black box.



Bela Lugosi's dead.

Undead Undead Undead.



The virginal brides

file past his tomb,

strewn with time's dead flowers,

bereft in deathly bloom,

alone in a darkened room

the count.



Bela Lugosi's dead.

Undead Undead Undead.



Oh Bela, Bela's undead.