The dark know many a fury
When from the back of hills
Shadows, fog play on paths
When the moon is weary
And the cold grip of rebuff,
Of howling, unholy laughter
Frighten the quiet evening,
Sending chills down spines

The path is hidden in smog
Throwing over the hamlet
A blanket of fear and descent
For if a beast is on the prowl
Unusual dogs bark into the night
And the moon hide her white face
But this specific night is no man’s friend