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In the witching hour's eerie embrace,
On All Hallows' Eve, when spirits brace, 
I find myself in a darkened wood, 
Where whispers of ancient evil stood.

The clock strikes twelve, the night's black heart beats, 
A chorus of leaves dance in the streets, 
The moon, a ghostly silent watcher, 
Hides behind the clouds, the night grower.

A lyric of horror on my lips, 
I tread where shadows and dread eclipse, 
The path is lost, the world askew, 
In this nightmare, what is true?

A figure emerges, draped in black, 
A witch, they say, has come to attack, 
Her eyes aglow with a hellish fire, 
Her presence fuels my deepest ire.

She cackles low, a sound so vile, 
It turns my blood to a cold-blooded bile, 
She chants in tongues of long-dead tomes, 
Her voice weaves through the night like foam.

I'm paralyzed, my breaths shallow, 
As she approaches, her silhouette hallows,
 Her fingers stretch, reaching for me, 
In this witching hour, will I ever be free?

She whispers a curse with a wicked grin, 
My soul to ensnare, my will to win, 
But I'm no mere mortal to fall to her power, 
I summon my strength in this haunted hour.

With a defiant cry, I break her spell, 
My will is iron, it does not quell, 
I confront the witch in her domain, 
And in that moment, I reclaim my brain.

The witch, she fades, her form unspun, 
A specter of the night undone, 
I stand alone as dawn starts to creep, 
The witching hour has had its keep.

So, remember this tale, young souls so bold, 
When Halloween comes and the air grows cold, 
The witching hour is not for the faint, 
Where the line between terror and excitement ain't.

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