I.

We were fast upon those brazen times

Of passions dark and of deadly nature

Scrambling away from sounding chimes

Fleeing from signs of sanity’s departure

We two did find ourselves at last

Free from cares of wet and cold

Unencumbered by our memories past

Stalking our prey as in days of old

Our lustful howling tears the black night

The passions of our vicious rut burning

Dark silhouettes against pale dawn light

We found our lesser selves returning

Vanquished by fear and the light of day

To the altar we fled to kneel and pray

II.

Now on our knees at the savior’s feet

Stains of dried blood darken our lips

We kneel and pray in self-deceit

The smell of lust on our finger tips

In this old stone chapel’s cold gray light

We feign atonement for the wild blood’s call

Though in truth, we still long for the night

Smiling inward at long shadows on the wall

Naked and prostrate, we call to our Lord

As our desire grows for yet another taste

Until our moral charade we no longer afford

We break free to lay the dark woods to waste

From high on a hilltop, our keen eyes aglow

We worship the moon as the winter winds blow

III.

The green hills burn with surreal lunar fire

As Death we descend on the valley below

The old, the innocent, the dumb and the slow

In tandem we slaughter with wanton desire

Our bloodlust sacrament, the deep crimson wine

The fruit of our passion, the succulent heart

The burn of our hunger, flesh torn apart

Worshipful hunters, on the fresh kill we dine

By the light of dawn we wake to our labors

Old sheep, young lambs--two small shepherd boys

All dead, torn and broken, like misused toys

We flee from the sight of unspeakable horrors

Though futile to run, we run just the same

We flee from the truth as we live for the game

copyright 2002, M. W. Anderson