Johnny was a wanderer
Johnny was a priest
And on the nights the moon came out
Johnny was a beast
He never told his doting flock
But still they found out
And on that night the Midnight Mass
Became a Midnight Rout
They chased him from his pulpit
In a charging mass of white
Forced into the woodland
Hidden from their sight
His flock returned to grazing
The clover and the grass
And Johnny still a-wanders
Welcome as a broken glass
His sermons go unanswered
No-one listens, no-one can
Johnny always was a wolf
Who dreamed of being a man
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