Death
has come alive within a creature
with the eyes of burning fire
there is a tingling in your brain
you want to run but you remain
it is the Hour of the Wolf
Now
what is this madness
that invades the very being of your soul
Shock
beads of sweat run down your face
you feel your blood is turning cold
no, what you're seeing can't be true
still there is nothing you can do
when it's the Hour of the Wolf
Look
you are encircled by a pentagram
of orange leaping flames
Shapes
are joining closer
and their chanting tongues
scream out a thousand names
a serpent coils around your head
there is no hope among the dead
it is the Hour of the Wolf