SEASON OF THE WITCH

Late October, the days grow short and the nights even longer,

There’s a chill that falls over the land this season; fear lives.

A small town in Massachusetts where the winds of cold grow,

An evil hides here in this quiet place, the woods of darkness.

An old house, hundreds of years standing, death to those who wonder,

What lives here, who lives here, if at all human is black magic, so evil.

The people of this town are well aware of the strange night happenings,

Now it’s October, it’s that time of year again, they conjure witches.

The owls are heard at night, they wait in the trees, they can see,

Bats fly through the fog-filled skies searching for blood on this night.

On Halloween night all the doors in this unusual little town will be locked,

For they draw you into their hell; be not the weak, they feel and hear.

Spells on poor souls that take the life from them, evil grows stronger,

Cauldron’s filled with a power, substance of magical force, a potion.

Season of the witch, season of doom for the mortal man,

He cannot resist temptation; he cannot pull himself away from the witch.

Deep in the woods where trees so tall cover a house of satanic ritual,

Tonight they ready themselves in this place made of wood and brick so old.

The moon rises, a full moon of orange and yellow, night of the witch,

through a window is seen to an eye fear as they have faces, many years.

On a Fall night, spells are cast out into the wind; they take bodies and minds,

Old and ugly are these daughters of the devil, tenants of hell.

Season of the witch comes to life in dark woods in a town of fear,

Twelve o’clock becomes the hour of the witch, from the light of the moon.

They appear in the sky, they fly hunting for the breath of life so that they

May again live to haunt Halloween.

                        Keith Garrett

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