12 June 2012
Scampering in the woods,
Howling at the moon,
The hunters cruel eye,
Is looking out for them,
They try to flee away,
But hope in their dismay,
They're shot in their warm heart,
The pain of the cold dart,
They scream and howl in agony,
To the evil laugh of Coralie,
And now they all lie dead,
Resting on their pretty head...
Wolves • Opuss № I