Julie was stomping around her apartment

She was in the mood of all moods

And hated everybody and everything

But most of all she hated herself

And her impossible reflection

It was not much fun being a vampire

As people no longer believed in vampires

It was like the power of the full moon

Both had been diluted beyond belief

It was time to change this she thought

As she threw on her coat and trainers

She walked the city streets until dawn

Coffee and toast was followed by

A walk in the Park of the Champions

In the early autumn sun Julie quietly shuffled

The dying golden leaves with her bare feet

She was glad to be alive which was strictly untrue

As she was already dead a witch by trade

Who was burnt at the stake in June 1666

Her current host was Julie Smith a pleasant girl who sold

Flowers and ribbons on the Wimbledon Worth Road

How she longed for a slim shadow and a full reflection

Being undead was not all it was made up to be

And the moods those terrible toxic moods

She hated these night terrors and longed for rest

There were many like her in the city but they never spoke

That was in the rule book some were in positions of power

And others polluted the streets and begged for alms

It was said that there was a terrible beauty in their diversity

But Julie was not interested in anything but herself

She loved herself beyond love yet knew it to be an odious love