The Ballad of the Hounds

fierce as it sounds, yet longing as it's concealed
for a young hound coveting the sky of the wolves
on which the moon shines the brightest
where the hinds slump swiftly downward the furrows

alas! such a night is gifted
for when the howl echoes beyond
with flashes of brilliant teeth glowing in the darkness
flaunting a great deal of vanity

and within the slightest touch the hackles billow
for the night is only meant to those who fathom
for howls are made to those who glow
for amazement is just a matter of a show

darn, as the young ones mutter
feeling sorrow with every fur
age is just a matter of a number
for it is heart that worths the quarrel

a night that is to be uphold
for the frail ones embark on themselves
in a determination of such creature
a worthless thing for the others

behave you little ones! stop fidgeting!
the time will come, pups, stop hurting
trust the mighty, and you might seek
a particular beauty of what you need

gibberish, for you to grieve
for it is youth those scums really crave
for it is virtue those scums dont have
for it is you those mongrels envy

and they say a night it's just a phase
a conversion to the next day of a change
for the elders' howls have been heard
in the night of complication, tears and craze

and as the midnight turns into dawn
those great ones will return
to their lair of greed and power
to loathe, whine and suffer

fierce as it sounds, and longing as it's concealed
for a great wolf to yield everything to conceit
but then to sob from the power of time
for them will actually depart soon