My father was a werewolf and he roamed the countryside
His fangs were long and sharp, his territory was wide
Along the way he sang his songs and sang them out of tune
He left a trail of tears and grief beneath the yellow moon
In a far-off village I heard he broke some hearts
I guess young hearts break easily in those foreign parts
Drunken frenzy has no fear, no shame and no remorse
There were burning bridges left behind and a hundred broken doors
Come all ye wankers, hear the story of the beast that stunk
Buy me a whiskey and a beer, I'm not completely drunk
If you have loose change about you, ring those service bells,
and if this story spooks your wits, I'll tell you something else.
On a night-time rampage he encountered some old friends
and left them lying in a pool of blood, this is where that story ends
When he came home next morning, he was all smile and charm
By the dirt under his fingernails I knew he'd done some harm.
My playground was a field of thorns behind a sandy hill
Grown-ups could not come there against the childrens' will
A haunted house stood in that field, all derelict and torn
I played there with the bones of the damned and the ghosts of the forlorn
Come all ye...
I believe that I'm in love right now, a feeling that remains
is a twisting pulse inside my head and a bloodrush in my veins.
That girl is sweet beyond compare, she is my only one
But my father was a werewolf and I am a werewolf's son
Yes, my father was a werewolf, that makes me a werewolf's son.