Again the scent Of wet fur and burnt grass Returns to this humble abode The wolfman is crashed on my couch, curled ball that twitches and growls In slumber, a comfortable comforting Old friend, though strange even to I Who rests by the window Empty wine glass in hand, Taking in the music of the night An hour will pass And he’ll leap to his feet Alive! We’re Alive! We’re not old news Time to hit the town And spread some fear! Time to crash the club To Monster Mash Or at least Hit up McDo...
