A yellow moon glowers,
Over my homely mansion.
A werewolf stalks on the pavement level.
Here in the trees are the huge boughs,
Of the neighborhood.
We dwell, in the night-time,
Above the ground,
In a complex of closed apartments,
Made of wood.
The sickening dim light of the streets,
Shines up weakly at the leaves,
Of the trees of the neighborhood.
A few noises shake me, rouse me,
From my rest, while a friend,
Caresses my head with her hand.
I wait, and listen,
To her voice. She tells me,
That that’s alright,
And I sleep again.