The cry of the wolf haunts my mind,
them beasts who are my very own kind,
I grew up running under a pale moon,
waiting to see my flock again so soon.

I howl for my heart at midnight,
to win yet a minute of my inner fight,
God set me unto this world by flame,
and so I seek the beast in me untame.

I am the wolf who runs in blackest night,
I am the snake who hiss at your lying sight,
all my roads lead back to Ireland the green,
the beautiful land I have not yet seen.

At ravens sight I fall to pieces still,
I hunt and enjoy the thrill of the kill,
I embrace you with wolf paw and fur,
but in my soul the predator always stir.