Theatrical Muse 200, the picture, the moon, the ravens.

The Hunters’ Moon.

Ain’t gonna take no lyric prompt,
Now you hear what I said?
If I don’t write my music
Then to me that music’s dead!
I only used dead music once,
That was a special song.
But that was in another world,
And now that dream is gone.

I see that dreamtime picture,
Of crows there on that tree.
I see the Hunter’s Moon above,
That makes a song for me.

The cities’ songs are hushed by night.
I hear the lullabies,
I hear the passing love songs
And the whispered truth and lies
I heard New Orleans harlots sing
The saddest kind of blues,
I hear the night-time mourning
For the things that all must lose.

But out there in the darkness
Night sings a different tune
I’ve heard a werewolf singing, too
Beneath the Hunters Moon.

That tune swings wild but I don’t know
A way to make you hear,
It’s pulsing like a heartbeat now,
And running like a deer!
It needs the sound of rock guitar,
A keyboard and a beat
A rising moon, a wailing wind,
The sound of racing feet.








And then the beat is ended,
and there's a different need
and dark clouds blow beneath that moon
and ravens drop to feed...

Muse; "Sweet" the singing demon.
Fandom; BTVS
Words, 208