The sun descends behind the jagged pine,
As shadows stretch in a long and crooked line.
A restless fever begins to burn within,
Beneath the surface of a human skin.
The pulse accelerates, the heart beats loud,
As the moon emerges from a velvet cloud.
A golden eye reflects the lunar light,
The transformation starts within the night.
The fingers sharpen into curved, black steel,
As ancient instincts start to wake and reel.
The bones they shatter and they knit anew,
To form a creature that the darkness knew.
No longer man, but a shadow on the hill,
With a hunter's hunger and a winter's chill.
A coat of silver and a throat of fire,
The wild embodiment of dark desire.
He throws his head back to the starry height,
And screams a hollow anthem to the night.
A lonely howl that echoes through the trees,
Carried away upon the midnight breeze.
The morning comes with a pale and misty gray,
To wash the madness of the night away.
He wakes in silence on the forest floor,
A man again—until the moon calls once more.