Oh how I tried to cut you down last night
When you turned and frightened my friends,
Because you bother them when you froth and slobber;
Your churlish moon croons soon doomed to end.

’cause you don’t walk like a man. . .
Walk like a can-
is lupus when no sun.
No wolfman’s worth
Leaving on the earth.
I shot you point-blank. . .you’ve run!

[howling at moon]

Goodbye tasting of folks you’re wasting;
I’ll get you encoffined somehow.
Moonlight, you’re cryin’, but soon, quite, you will be lyin’
On ground with a round in your brow.

Plastered you; shot, you still ran. . .
Sought a new plan,
Bought a new brand for you.
Bullet will hurl right into your lupine curls. . .
Use shot wrought with plata*. . .slew!

[cheers of jubilation mixed with “shot, shot, shot. . . .]


*silver