Howl, your hands of murder and cold,
Weave through the night,
Make hearts as black as coal.
From out of sight,
A young boy's knell is knolled,
To blot the light,
To slay what's right and bold.

The crimson flies, the shepherd dies,
The streets are paved with bone.
But no matter which road it takes,
Howl is coming home.

Howl, your words of ruin and sly
Sound from below,
And bid the wraiths of night pry,
To douse and stow
All candles of the night sky,
The fatal crow
To scan for life as she flies.

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