Harvist - Wolfskin Clad

The flicker in the bleakness of night
the lycan draws nigh
as if spit from Satan's wrath
forever to dwell in the shadows
Oh, mother moon, bare not ill upon this head
Oh, master night, encloak one wishing to disappear
How ones hate will carry
and nourish ones own hunger
and warm like something infernal
cursed and poisoned
In the moonlight, it splits, as violently as murder
a beast left howling at it's god in despair