The wolf on the hill watching the sheep
The vision of ghosts that haunt your sleep
The black rose, the sapphire sun
Nobody knows where I am from

Or what I am it's hard to tell
Beyond hearing sight or smell
A remnant of a forgotten place
The secret lines never traced
The broken glass never replaced
The shifting smoke without a face
The monster come and given chase
So hard to see the cultured grace

No one understands they never will
Running away from the foreign chill
Always perfecting my certain skill
Of never jumping in to get a thrill
Never going straight for the ****
Instead I watch from the window sill
And so I sit atop my hill
Just waiting for the blood to spill