The Hunter is Mistaken!
The huntsmaster shot me with a silver gun.
Which, at killing werewolves, was well to do.
But my heart is with the blacksmith’s son
And to possess it he must take his too.
Hence he sought Teddy with his silver gun
And shot him in more places than one.
But his hands were bare.
Had it been never there?
And there was nothing my love could have done.