Witches and witchcraft

Three boys, in the fort they built in the woods  
Stocked with a radio and a few canned goods  
In the quiet little place called Beech Grove  
A pleasant community that most people love  
After telling jokes and ending up in stitches  
Decided to scare each other with tales of witches  
It was Bradon's turn and he was really on a roll  
Martin was listening closely and it was taking a toll  
Josh had a fire going and in an old pot they found  
He was stirring with a stick round and round  
“Old man Churchman used to walk these woods at night”  
“How would you know? Bradon, your not right  
He died before you were born,” Martin tried to assert  
“Shut up, it's my story. Don't interrupt, you little squirt  
Anyway, he used to curse the people from this very spot”  
Martin weighed his words and was scared by the thought  
“No he didn't. He was just an old rich man,” he yells  
“Shut up! Anyway, that's how he became rich, casting spells”  
“Wasn't he the president of some bank in Indy?”  
“Shut up. He built this really tall tower that collects people's energy  
He made people slaves and they built a road to his bank as his driveway”  
Martin listened and said with shaky certainty, “Nah, his workers got a big payday”  
“Shut up. Rumor has it he's still alive, out here, probably watching us right now.”  
Martin looked around suspiciously, “that's a stupid story,” as he looked around  
“What do you think of my story Josh?” Bradon asked, expecting him to hem and haw  
“I think I need a couple of toads to finish my potion for dear ole Great Grandpa”  
--Poof--  
To anyone watching, they saw an old man walking hand in hand with a child  
Walking through the woods, watching the squirrels and birds in the wild  
But you and I know the truth, a made up story from my youth

 
Twitch! The little girls would fidget and misbehave at random times,
Consumed by delusions, they started mentioning villager’s names,
Imagining faces and scenarios that appeared in their minds,
Unaware that they started playing some twisted wicked games.

Witch! The little girls would scream in horror, terror and fright,
And so, the Puritans swore they would fight against this blackness,
Creating a panic amidst adults in broad daylight,
As the town of Salem slowly descended into madness.

Afflicted! The little girls would claim they were being tormented,
Dreaming vivid dreams and hallucinating ghastly specters
Naming names playing wicked games like they were demented,
Pointing fingers at unsuspecting people to their protectors.

Confess! Judges and ministers would urge women to profess,
As the little girls would become hysterical in the harangue,
And the courts acting like a lynching mob of demons possessed,
Pardoned falsehoods while those who maintained their innocence would hang.

Guilty! Every trial was a farce creating more upheaval,
As the fever of something dark made them all that much more afraid,
But the men of God were obsessed with proving this old evil,
For they never knew of the wicked games that little girls had played.

Die! The gang of Christians cursed at the accused with ire and wrath,
Watching their necks break when they were hung and swung from the gallows pole,
Confiscating the victims’ belongings but in the aftermath...
They were consumed by recklessness, and it cost them their own souls.

With the imagination of little girls, men became obsessed,
Blinded by faith and rage they lost their sense of humanity,
They had become so heartless, lost in an imaginary quest,
Creating a mass hysteria that begot more insanity.

These wicked games led to villagers being prosecuted,
In the end, twenty innocent people were executed.