Men like me must live with our sins
The boil in my blood like a fire ‘neith my skin
as I search every face for the marks of my kin
for no one else may know.
What I became with the moon overhead
in the glow of their torchlights when the caught us in my bed
when I found him in the churchyard he was already dead
my lover my sweet, darling one.
When Man lies with Man we are killed for our crimes,
but they’ll wish the first life they’d taken was mine
because wolves hunt in packs and the death isn’t kind;
The Forest looks out for Her own.
It was full Harvest Moon on the night we returned
I knelt by the spot where his body was burned
and I tore off my clothes and I howled my grief
and then we turned our teeth on the town.
And it wasn’t my first taste of the sweet flesh of man
as we descended on the town, every wolf in the land
and our hot breath and our white fangs grew wet with the blood
of the men who murdered my love.
