When the world turns 'round, and the moon looks down and the river cries and weeps. Then on a fateful night, under the stars so bright, the witches coven shall meet.
But fear ye not, you cowardly lot, for they bring nothing but bliss. And when they're done, with all their fun, Then the coven we shall miss.
For on that hill, up the road from the mill, the witches shall gather and dance. And if they jig, or kill a pig, they will still put the world in a trance.
If they are good or bad, it makes me sad, that no-one will help defend the night. For too much bliss, is too hard to miss and in the end we're all going to die.
Comments (2)