Both breeds are the same
Neither blood can be tamed
They struggle for this territory
A land that means nothing to me
My job is clear, there are no names
A vocation, and no game
I hunt those who ruin the night
By killing the sheep of light
I'll hunt them with every breath I take
By silver bullet or by wooden stake
They'll fall down at my feet
With the sick smell that tastes sweet
For me death is just a breath I live
Sometimes a gift to give
They roam the land in tribal clans
I bring their death, those bastard Fangs.