Lair of the werewolf,
With a great spider’s webbing across the chandelier,
No light pours in past the gates,
Unfortunate travellers are engulfed within a dark fear,
When the beast, itself, runs about,
The ruins slightly crumble,
With broken glass strewn across the floor,
This ancient home no longer seems humble,
Preserved creatures, are thee,
Whom feast upon animals of the trees,
Only to show themselves on a night of the full moon,
They are the masters of the hunt, who would never dare devour a fool.