Season of the Witch
At this time of year,
When the air's crisp and clear,
And the wind blows the leaves 'cross the ground,
They say there comes stalking,
That the dead come a-walking,
And spirits and ghouls haunt the town.
When the moon shines bright,
You may see by it's lght,
As witches on broom sticks fly by,
And the will-o-the-wisp,
When the air's cool and crisp,
Tries to lead astray all passers by.
The wind in the trees,
Is blowing the leaves,
And making a ghostly moan,
'Round the house outside,
Warning all what betide,
Any who fail to stay home.
Stay close by the hearth,
If you be faint of heart,
For the ghosts and the ghouls are at play,
Till the witching hour,
When they lose their power,
And they must return to the grave.
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