I was in Transylvania
On a foolish holiday
When a vampire decided
To make me not ok.
I saw that he was hungry
But I sought to understand
What filled this monster’s heart
In this spooky far-off land.
He said when he was mortal
He had owned a ranch,
And the finest heads of cattle
Came from his European branch.
He longed for the days of yore
When cooking was an art,
So I cooked him up a ribeye.
It was a steak through his heart.
The Daily Travesty 