My muse is quite unique
They are one of people's fears
Their lifves bleak
They have few peers
Every month they gather under the light of the moon
Their fangs and claws flashing in the night
People think I'm a believing loon
I think they are partially right
They spark my curiosity and generate ideas
Silver is said to be their greatest fear
The rumours lower me to tears
For I hold them dear.
If you look out to the moors on a fulll moon night so cool
You might actually see this werewolf-loving fool.