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Beware the moon, I do announce

As full and round as ball you bounce

But pay heed to my mournful scowl

For wickedness this night’s on prowl

The low slung mist upon the moor

I tell you, this is not folklore

There’s those that turn to wild beast

Upon full moon, and search to feast

You think me crazy, drunken fool

Who dribbled out of pub like drool

But I know of the ancient legends

Passed down by cabalistic brethren

But hey, I understand you tourist

You scoff at me like skeptic purist

Well, go on head out on that moor

My warnings, yeah? You can ignore

For daylight, you refuse to wait

You’d rather risk horrific fate

Well, ain’t it like Americans

To think they know much better than

A countryman who’s seen the ruined

The bodies hacked like hedge ill-pruned

I watch you wander into night

Your figure fades as dim goes light

The sound is close, it’s got your scent

And when it comes, you can’t repent

Relentless in its cruel bloodlust

A scream? Another bites the dust

Survive he might, which is much worse

Who knows where else might go this curse

God forbid he has become one…

An American werewolf off to London?

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