So let it be known,
A man who makes a beast of himself
Is not easily atoned.
His breath is a gentle breeze in the nighttime;
The calm before the storm.
The moon’s in full bloom now,
His face hairy and scorned.
Your razor is sharp,
But your mind is sharper;
Cuts deeper than a blade
When it’s hate that you harbour.
They say a monster plagues our town,
Threatening the status quo.
So grab your guns and your torches;
Better the devil you know.
Many moons ago it started
When the daytime departed;
Fur, claws, and beady eyes
To mask all that’s inside.
For many years now he would hide,
Scared to face the dusk.
Because when the sun set your love was gone
And you were another beast he couldn’t trust.
Where’s that wolf, the werewolf, the where wolf.
Look in the streaky mirror.
The wolf is still a part of you,
The part you’ve come to fear.