-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Who knows what walks the Crags,
On this month of Witchin',
With It's long tendrils, snappin' and twitchin',
Through the nights of this Month?
Through the undergrowth It stalks,
With a mind o' Fire and Pitchforks,
A mighty roar, the sound of many cacklin' hag.
So, young 'un,
When you're out the'er,
All drunk on your beer,
Utter a prayer,
For the month o' witching has begun.
