I fear a bad moon arisin’,
I fear jugulars will fray,
I fear dearth of daylightin’,
I fear fang tines will slay.

Don’t go out at night,
’cause you’re chow; they’ll take your life—
There’s a bad moon on the rise.

I fear hurt an’ pain are growin’,
I know teethe rend; there’s coming doom,
I fear ripped girls overflowin’,
(I fear rippin’ ogres roamin’,)
I hear voices rage at the moon.

Don’t go out at night,
’cause they’re bound to take a bite—
There’s a bad moon on the rise.
Moonlight!

[howling, baying concerto]

Hope you have got your things together:
Garlic, crucifix, argentine.
Looks like we’re in for gashly severs.
Moon shines, and they are set to dine.

Don’t go out at night,
’cause they’re chowhounds, and they’re rife—
There’s a bad moon on the rise.

Don’t go out at night—
Hunker down until sunlight.
There’s a bad moon on the rise.