• In the dead of the night,
    It pierces the silence
    Of warm summer air
    And breathes life to the Wild.
    It rings out, through the forest,
    Speaks of Life, speaks of Death.
    It calls to its kind,
    And all those who listen.
    Its call rings of sorrow,
    Its tone one of longing.
    It whispers secrets to the darkness beyond,
    Whist seeking answers to its troubling cause.
    It speaks of its name,
    Wishing to be heard,
    The name of the Wolf,
    So subtle, so tried.
    The wolf's bitter howl
    Carries great emotion,
    Shows its amazing Strength,
    And unending sense of Pride.
    It shines, o' so bright,
    Under the moon divine,
    As keen and as sharp
    As a blade, so fine.
    It carries great beauty,
    Though condemned by man,
    Proves the untrying Faith
    of the Wolf in the Land.
    If only its mysticism
    And greatness were seen, by the men of this world,
    Then maybe, just maybe,
    The wolves would be free.
    Truly... Free.