Oh, the werewolf comes stepping along; he don’t even break the branches where he’s gone.
Once I saw him in the moonlight when the bats where flying. I saw the werewolf, and the werewolf was crying.
Crying, “Nobody knows, nobody knows how I loved the man as I teared off his clothes.”
Crying, “Nobody knows, nobody knows my pain when I see that it’s risen that full moon again.”
For the werewolf has sympathy; for the werewolf’s somebody like you and me.
