A lying man’s tongue, just freshly hung,

The eyes of a murderer, taken for fun.

Hands of a thief, cut from the arms,

A foot of the dead, one found in the

Woods.

Head of a bat, hair from the wolf,

An evil soul, dug up from its hole.

A thought from the wicked one,

Who has not a conscience.

Into the pot, the greed of anyone,

A piece of the cheating heart,

Those whom hold.

All that is bad, stirred into the pot,

A spell on the 31st, will be cast after dark.

Keith Garrett