There's a savage scowl on the moon tonight,
Harvest ichor dripping down to feed my
Not so gentle lunacy.
I claw for succor in the darkness
But find no relief without the Hunt,
A passing flicker of red before
The grey revealing memory comes to a head
Beading tender morsel to my mania.
There can be a delight and companion
In the howl on the wind,
And the raptors of the steel forest
Laughing bitter mockery at what
They might want to be yet
In soul and chained reality I am.
But no true beast of feral pleasure
Could ever express ecstasy
In the neon tainted dark.
Nay, I crave the stars and harvest beacon,
A wolf unsatiated in my
Black top hunting grounds.
