The Cutting Moon

The cutting moon rose pale and yellow
it brought a look towards the west
the sharp edge of its crescent
laying down as if in rest
 
the witches fly in the evening gloom
and cast a spell on the cutting moon
the cost, a hair from his lovers head
and the caldron boiled in the flames so red
 
a fickle heart that cannot decide
and bringing amour to a roving eye
to let the light shine through the mist
the edge of passions catalyst

take its strands that fall to earth
weave a spell with a cackled laugh
potions the cutting moon dissects
mirrored in the sacred lake

fake emotions reflected gleam
of greener grass where not it be
cutting moon to light the path
entrance her with its crescents half