11 Moustachioed Daughters.
Running in a field of fat.
The full moon high, the mandrakes speak, please come
to our sabat.
The changing children shiver round the fire their
mothers dance.
Strangely painted faces that smile but never laugh.
The crow pecked gibbet's victim, swings broken in his cage
His hands cut down to make a crown to wear as a
homage.
round and round the magic things our fingers fastly
and wolf like things and toads with wings whisper wetly
come with us
fresh plucked eye of a favourite cat, pulped and mixed
with white hens fat, a lapwings wing, and lions roar, like belladonna to make your eyes
Like a beast
to anoint the body and make it shine
to drink and make thyself divine
to choose another form and make it thine
and knowledge of a blasphemy
and fill the fetid air
with ancient lies
and leprous cries
this night he will be there
A madness has the mouthsgate wide,
as one they sway and moan,
and every brutish face is turned
to see our goat kings throne
worship for satan heehee

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