Witching Hour

Beware the chiming of the Grandfather clock
For the witching hour has come
Yet there is one dark figure that comes out and walks
Underneath the dim light of the midnight sun.

Mothers hide their children indoors
And even drunkards know to clear the streets
This peaceful village isn’t quite the same as before
On this chilly All Hallow’s Eve.

The hooded lithe figure continues undisturbed
Her haunting voice echoes in the still air
All around her, the dead start to emerge
Her features are hidden, aside from her auburn hair.

Only the foolish or the brave would seek her out
Eager to satisfy their greed with a spell
Yet even their courageous hearts are filled with doubt
As to why the witch smiles, no one can tell.

She offers a vast selection of herbs and potions
Or perhaps you’d fancy a reading into your future
Yet the ones that seek her out are fewer and fewer
Don’t eat the apples bubbling in the black cauldron.

Such an angelic face hiding the evil inside
Her blackened soul is rotten to the core
Yet her many victims were all blinded by pride
Where angels desire peace, the witch thrives in war.

Her golden eyes pierce through the soul
Her medallion clings to her bosom
Through a simple kiss, she’ll have you under her control
At her feet, only black roses blossom.

At last, the sun begins to rise
In the darkness, you can see a splash of red
The auburn witch has left with her earned prize
And will return to celebrate the Day of the dead.