To The Wolves

[ericrowe]

I'm not a man who is pure of heart.
I don't say prayers at night.
But I'll still be a man, when the wolfsbane blooms,
And the full moon shines its light.

I will still be this man, with his tarnished heart,
And his green and grasping eyes.
Failing to sleep in the moonlight's glare,
And counting off the hours til sunrise.