Werewolves Sunk the Titanic (It's Not Personal, It's Dinner)

The ocean air brings out the beast in me,
claiming your maiden with sharp teeth and sharper cold.

But, my darling, you taste so good tonight with the moon in your eyes
and the salt in your lungs. The Atlantic is calling your name.

I’m sorry for how this happened. I hope it helps you to know,
I feel the most at home, peeling the skin from your bones.