I see the full moon beginning to rise.
Crap.
This stuff is getting old.
I'm ruining my clothes
every thirty days.
It's getting riskier,
the people in town
are always chasing me
with torches,
shooting at me
with silver bullets.
One by one,
pretty women
are disappearing,
occasionally a small boy.
They are using hounds now.
One of these days,
they're going to bag me.