A blasphemous festival of prancing witches,

bowing down to devilish riches.

Hatchets in hand, they spill virgin blood,

corpses of sheep dragged through the mud.

Necks sliced open, they fill the pool,

fueled by lust and carnage, the girls became ghouls.

To hell with righteousness,

embracing the pleasures of maliciousness.

Maidens stripped from their virgin coil,

fiends of gore and sex, their innocence soiled.

The harvest moon hangs like the bodies of angels,

to love and prayers they have grown disdainful.

A bloody festival of black magic,

an adoration for the wickedly dramatic.