The widow is laughing
In a home of oak rafters
Her lover is wondering
Where his woman has gone

In a town of brick roadways
All the townfolks are talking
About the happenings happening
On a young widow's farm

There are rumors of wolves
That come after midnight
Baying of hunger, greed and delight
But she hears not the howling
Nor the whisper of moonlight
As she draws back the curtains
And blows out the lights

The wolves sense her hunger
And tremble in fear
Pale flesh and the death thirst
As death closes near

Her love was a Collins
That she met by a tavern
Who turned her to darkness
Before going away

This night as she feasts
She curses his memory
The wolf-headed walking stick
And his manners so fine