Among the ruins
Of Europa the once great
Hunting
Scent of blood on the wind
Beneath the nocturnal silence
And the glare of the moon

Preying on the feeble
The decadence of the obedient
Their worthless existence

The Warrior spirit un-dead
The sombre form
Of the survivor of the fall

The moon light turns blood-red
As the archetype awakens
With the hunt of the werewolf