Warlock

This is where they burned their witch, Half crazed, half starved Old Mother Gee, Whimpering as they dragged her forth ‘Tis not me not me not me not me, Then stood bound there As if in a loutish dream And endured those flames Without a single scream Causing those citizens, gathered There to abuse and jeer, To stand and mutter and watch In abject horror and cankerous fear. Twas my little poisoned needle Driven swift and deep to the heart So that she almost instant died With just a silent little start And I tied her corpse To that burning tree And only I knew that She’d been set free. I am the witch finder to seek them out; Most nights I ride these skies enhanced By the sacred mushroom power as down Below my body lies held in deepest trance. I ride those winds and I swoop and glide, Play hide and seek with a midnight cloud For I am the Warlock and do my will, and as I Fly to the stars laugh my contempt out loud.