As the sun sinks into the horizon,
The Full Moon lurks from behind the clouds,
The howling wolf howled its instinctive melody,
Black magic and dark secret stirred with no doubt.
A wing of bat, and virgin's blood,
Air filled with chants and cackles,
Through the sky lightning strucked,
Leaving the pot to boil and rumble.
Upon a crooked branch, a raven stood near,
Around the blazing fire, the witches danced
And the heart choked with mounting fear,
Seeing the gruesome thing they have done.
A yound lad laid - such an unsightly view.
His chest was slashed open and face was blue,
His meat was the witches' home-made stew,
His blood was the witches' favourite brew.
As the trace of dawn began to appear,
The dreadful witches started to fear,
On their broom they would disappear,
Until the sky the night would smear.