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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