Tag Archives: werewolf

Werewolf love song

Werewolf love song

(Chorus)

The scent of you under the moon

your flower/salt tang in the air,

makes me so glad that it hurts,

makes fur stand.

I must taste again, your skin.

Your soul calls me always.

I would follow you into the sea.

We spoke on the bridge for an hour or more.

I waited there for you for most of the day,

to hear your soft voice and make it seem chance.

I do not touch you but hear you.

I hear you still in my mind.

The scent of you under the moon

your flower/salt tang in the air,

makes me so glad that it hurts,

makes fur stand.

I must taste again, your skin.

Your soul calls me always.

I would follow you into the sea.

We “chance” meet again in the morning near town,

Your dark eyes alive with finer feeling.

I offer my coat for your shoulders,

our hands touch as you thank me.

I hear you still in my mind.

The scent of you under the moon

your flower/salt tang in the air,

makes me so glad that it hurts,

makes fur stand.

I must taste again, your skin.

Your soul calls me always.

I would follow you into the sea.

I’ve asked you to meet in the evening at last,

We speak of the trees by the rising moonlight.

You share your dreams of the ocean,

Your head on my shoulder, you murmur.

I hear you still in my mind.

The scent of you under the moon

your flower/salt tang in the air,

makes me so glad that it hurts,

makes fur stand.

I must taste again, your skin.

Your soul calls me always.

I would follow you into the sea.

The light of the moon and your nearness,

make me feel as if i’ve lost my mind,

I howl my pleasure and madness

I must taste again, your skin.

I would follow you into the sea.

The scent of you under the moon

your flower/salt tang in the air,

makes me so glad that it hurts,

makes fur stand.

I must taste again, your skin.

Your soul calls me always.

I would follow you into the sea.

This is a new song featured in this year’s Hopeless, Maine show. It’s the first of our original songs to be written by Tom, and the tune for it was composed by Tom and his son Cormac – who is a fantastic musician.

Isabelle Myfanwy, unexpectedly deceased

Having been missing for several days, remains of Isabelle Myfanwy were unexpectedly discovered late yesterday, inside a glass heron. Due to the whole issue of being inside a glass heron, there will be no burial, but a memorial service of some sort is expected.

At present, the cause of Isabelle’s death remains unknown. As a 14 year old she is unlikely to have been dismembered by the bird who ate her and should really have lost no more than a hand to a glass heron attack. It seems most likely that her remains were already in pieces before the glass heron ingested her. We may never know the truth.

Doc Willoughby said, “The most likely cause of death is gothicism, which is a frequent killer of young ladies. Isabelle had taken to wearing black clothing and dramatic hoods, which is never a good sign. She was probably hanging about in graveyards, and either got herself exsanguinated, or torn apart by werewolves.”

Doc Willpoughy encourages any other young ladies afflicted by gothicism to call in at his surgery after dark where they can admire his collection of unsavoury things in bottles while he undertakes to cure them of their unwholesome inclinations. I am sure this is as reasonable as it sounds.

Friends of the deceased fear that she may have been taken by the island’s black dog, or indeed a werewolf.

“She always did love fluffy things,” one family member told me. “And some of those werewolves can be really fluffy at this time of year.”

Heike Harding is dead, but who should we blame?

By Frampton Jones

Heike Harding will be well known to anyone who has spent time around the docks of Hopeless Maine. She has fed the feral cats there for many years, and taken in cats rescued from shipwrecks. Anyone wanting a regular cat who can prevent small, antisocial entities from infesting home or workplace, will have appreciated her good work.

It is a mystery then, why this well-liked islander has suffered a sudden and violent death.

Doc Willoughby told me: “She most likely had a little turn and fell in the water. No one lasts long in that water.” When I asked him about the shocking neck wound, he said, “Sea monsters, I expect. They come right into the dock you know, especially at night after the pub has closed.”

A number of citizens who wished to remain anonymous expressed to me their opinions that someone from our unnatural community is to blame. Several anonymous vampires have told me that it was far too violent to be a vampire bite, and looked far more like the sort of thing a were-person would do.  One gentleman self-identifying as a werewolf told me that a werewolf just wouldn’t waste food like that and it must have been a vampire.

On the day after her death, all of Heike’s cats made a slow and solemn march from the docks, to the Hopeless Home for Uncanny Cats. I feel they know something we do not.

Since the recent deaths of Crysta, and Erekiel, The Hopeless Home for Uncanny Cats has been an unsafe place for human visitors. The cats are angry. Cats have congregated from across the island as far as I can tell. I had no idea we had so many dustcats and shadowcats.

I advise extreme caution, if you own a cat, are owned by a cat, see a cat, or find someone breaking into your home after dark.