The Count

I’m one of the most famous Counts of the area,

I’m Known from Romania to far off Bavaria,

Transylvania is where I call my true home,

In my family’s castle corridors I usually roam,

It is a bit drafty so I often wear my warm cape,

Made from the best bat fur you can use to drape,

I know it’s not the brightest colour you can get,

But it hides stains when it sometimes gets wet,

And I have the worst insomnia so I’m up all night,

All these horrible rumours about me just ain’t right,

I sleep in a box all day because it’s warmer than bed,

Its expensive heating a castle and the bills I do dread,

People say I’m very pale and combust in direct sunlight,

That is also untrue, I just burn and my sun cream is white,

I’ve heard people saying I drink blood straight from necks,

Who would do that when I have a fridge full up of  Becks,

Yes I do have two pointy teeth but they are only hereditary,

And I am on iron tablets which makes violence unnecessary,

I’m a food connoisseur with the most impeccable taste,

I have several castle mates here so it never goes to waste,

The rumours are they are the group of my undead brides,

But they are skinny models with blemishes the camera hides,

Its plain to see I’m a Count with a zest for life and living well,

I am not the monster you hear about as you can clearly tell,

O yeah, as you were reading this poem about poor old me,

Subliminal messages were sent through to make you agree,

I am the Count of Transylvania and a normal and kind man,

Also I could come round and suck your blood whenever I can.

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