[Intro] [Acoustic guitar strumming, banjo picking, distant foghorn] [Male spoken, deadpan, heavy southern twang] Yeah… Parish transfer. They said it was a promotion. [scoffs] "hell no..." Bless their hearts. I reckon they sent me down here to die. [Verse 1] [Banjo-driven, offbeat delivery, white southern drawl] Badge on my chest, pen in my hand— three bodies rottin' where the cypress stand. Same MO, same mud, same preacher's mark, left 'em in the swamp like dogs in the dark. [Male whisper]: "routine" Captain says it's clean. [Male whisper, stretched]: "cleeean" But the water's too still where the dead have been. Didn't know the bayou'd smell the beast… and smile. [Ad-lib]: "smile…" [distorted, reversed, drawn out] [Pre-Chorus] [Beat drops out, just acoustic guitar and banjo] V8 hummin', fog crawlin' in, my wolf's sniffin' the air, growlin' within. You can hide in the reeds, sink in the mire— but I smell the wrongness… like rot and fire. And I hate that I smell it. [pause, heavy breath] Hate that I cain't unsmell it. [Chorus] [Full band enters, electric guitar with twang, fiddle, heavy drums] I'M THE WOLF IN THE PARISH—BUT WHO'S THE PREY? This killer don't bleed the normal way. I dunno need no warrant—I follow where the beast leads. The moon's my curse… and the truth won't leave. And the case stays open… [weird pause] 'cause the swamp won't breathe. [Ad-lib]: "won't breathe…" [muffled, like underwater, dragged] [Verse 2] [Banjo returns, more abstract, fragmented delivery] Third body, same pattern, different parish line— mud prints fadin' like a dream I can't define. No tire tracks, no boot prints, just a circle of stones, and a crow's feather… that smells like my own bones. [pause] He left me a note in the tongue of the dead: "You're just like me, wolf—a hunter with sin." "We're both killers. Just different kinds of proof." [beat drops out] Or if I'm just the beast the swamp wanted to see… dunno which one's worse. [Ad-lib]: "wanted to see…" [reversed, distorted, fading] [Bridge] [Stripped to banjo and acoustic guitar, male spoken-word] Captain leans in: "You're seein' things, detective." I say: "The trees are hollerin', and they know my name." [pause, long breath] This ain't a case. It's a mirror. And I don't like what's starin' back. Cain't look away, neither. [Electric guitar riff builds, full band returns] [Final Chorus] [Maximum intensity, full band, layered vocals] I'M THE WOLF IN THE PARISH—AND I'M LOST IN THE NIGHT! He knows my hunger. He knows my bite. I dunno need no backup. I follow where the beast leads! The moon's my curse… and the truth won't leave! And the hunt goes on… [weird pause] until one of us dies. [Outro] [Beat fades to banjo and acoustic guitar, cicadas] [Male spoken, exhausted, close-mic, white southern drawl] Case file open. Logbook signed. Nothin' closed. Nothin' solved. The swamp done still laughin'. And the moon… [pause, drawn out] it's just watchin'. Waitin' to see which one of us breaks first. [Distant foghorn, engine idle] [Ad-lib]: "breaks first…" [reversed, fading, stretched vowel] [Silence] [End]
