Haunting the silence of the black moor.
Wading the pools of stagnant peat.
Moaning the violence of the dead poor.
Breaking the rules hunting live meat.

Shift for me child in your sleeping gown.
Open the window and let me in.
I haven’t a meal in a fortnight.
And you are a promise within.

A scream on the sill of a cottage far.
A mother finds blood on a bedroom floor.
Now full of a kill of a thirst bizarre
I claw through the mud for a hidden door.

Shift for me stone from my sepulcher
Open my tomb and let me in.
I haven’t a sleep in a century.
And you are my curse within.

Torches are burning beneath the moon.
Hunting a thing who brings sudden death.
A priest goes to turning my undead swoon.
It could have been you who walks without breath.