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Lord of the Werewolves
(Music loosely based on the Huron Indian Carol)

Twas in the midst of wintertime, When summer cheer had fled
That Talen lay upon the path, And bled till he was dead.

A sight that sore eyes could not bear, A sign that times were poor,
When werewolves prowled the woods by day, And roamed upon the moor.

A man of strength among us came, He'd hunt the wolves that were,
The furs he swore he'd sell for gold, For werewolf furs were rare.
And eagerly he trod the path, To test the strength of werewolf wrath
Kayme, our lord was still, Kayme was still,
Though we sent to him for help.

His sword he swung in mighty arcs, Great Gitchi strong fought long,
But numbers overpowered him, For many wolves are strong
Blood flowed from jags in rugged skin, And winter chill had soon crept in
Gitchi the man lay dead, Gitchi was gone.
Fought so well and died so strong.

A healer walked upon the Path, Her cloak a laurel green.
Upon the dead man's knotted brow She saw a fevered sheen,
A werewolf's bite had deep sunk in, And Gitchi was now werewolf kin.
Gitchi a werewolf was, Gitchi had changed,
Soul and body were estranged.

The wrath of were came all too soon, Before our walls were strong.
They came in waves that had no end And breached us ere too long.
In fear we stood our ground and vowed No were would see a man be cowed.
Kayme our Lord was still, Kayme was Still,
Save us now oh Kayme Lord.

So many men did die that day, So many women fell,
But not a single child was harmed, 'Tis we this story tell,
We travel wide upon the world, To tell a tale of doom unfurled,
Kayme our Lord was there, Kayme was there,
He was leader of the Were.


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ewcenek@acm.org