Текст: Viva Machine. A Futuristic Dracula.

Ten days of overwhelming guilt,
And ten night of worshipping you.
You told me to write it in a letter,
But I just refused and then I sang:
Na-na-na-na.

Through the door you wandered,
Out from the cold.
The touch of your skin sent shivers,
Down my spine,
But the crazy thing, you won't love me.

F-U-T-U-R-I-S-T-I-C D-R-A-C-U-L-A

That's what you've become a Futuristic Dracula.
You say your coming back,
You're never coming back.

All these things, they make no sense,
And you're fangs they shine,
Reflecting you're regrets.

I will sing for you. I will sing.

All these things, they make no sense,
And you're fangs they shine,
Reflecting you're regrets.

And you're love survives,
By a simple bite in the neck,
If I trusted you would I be in over my head?

But the crazy thing, you won't love me