This entry was published at least two years ago (originally posted on July 9, 2006). Since that time the information may have become outdated or my beliefs may have changed (in general, assume a more open and liberal current viewpoint). A fuller disclaimer is available.
“Tomorrow, Wendy (Live)” by Concrete Blonde from the album Still in Hollywood (1990, 4:28).
Skulking through the realm of night,
ribbons of mist spiral up from the road,
at moonrise, like a thistle cold bites.
The veil of darkness blinds all from sight,
where entities known, across the hills strode,
skulking through the realm of night.
Forever bound to dread mornings first light,
remiss of penance that could be bestowed,
at moonrise, like a thistle cold bites.
An ancient curse decry the villagers to plight,
of man’s descent from the wolves fold,
skulking through the realm of night.
Bloodlines past on through a lusty bite,
to the unwary traveller into the dark he goes,
at moonrise, like a thistle cold bites.
Stalking its prey in frenzied delight,
the mangled corpse howling arose,
skulking through the realm of night,
at moonrise, like a thistle cold bites.