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Brother Widmo's ConfessionI was born in the Year of the Plague;
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Mother looked on my face and went mad,
While the midwife cut her own throat.
I was raised by the monks of St. Vitus;
They kept me safe, a curséd innocent,
Hidden in the shadowed cloisters...
There were nuns at St. Vitus, as well;
I used to watch a novice, lovely girl,
Her name was Genevieve.
She was not afraid of my pale sharp face;
My pointed ears made her laugh,
And my long, long fingers she held in her hand.
I tried to kiss her but it went all wrong--
My teeth sank into her white throat,
And the sweetest golden taste filled my mouth!
The monks were most upset;
Widmo, they said, we dreaded this,
Your father's blood is showing...
They locked me in my cell;
And tried to exorcise the curse--
It didn't go so well...
I was frightened;
The Bell, the Book, the Candle burned!
I cried out, unknown words---
My brothers screamed in fear;
Their faces twisted, went ghastly pale,
Their fingers grew, like mine.
We are a family now;
The Brothers Nosferatu,