There are wolves that roam the woods at night,
Red eyed and ravenous, and eager to bite,
They hunt us down in our wildest dreams,
In darkness where no-one can hear you scream.
When we close our eyes we set them free,
And give the pack their pagan liberty,
For every truth which we bury and deny,
In our dreams take wing and learn to fly.
They roam where reasons rules may bend,
In the guise of strangers, or our friends,
Perverted by all our repressed desires,
Burnt in a wickerman with forbidden fires.
Beneath the wicked witching waning moon,
The dying dawn comes all too soon,
Banishing the pack into the black,
But tonight I know they are coming back.
No comments:
Post a Comment