There came three odd women of Warwick
Who cried noiselessly, who had no voice to speak
Rose from their beds in the afternoon, weak
Goes on to watch walking strangers from a wall leak

At midnight in June, eyes cracked open and wide
Beneath the pale moonlight they creep and hide
Sheathed, shiny hawklike daggers on each side
On what begins their prayer to the great divide

Down on their knees, with red satin robes sweeping the floor
Seven lit white candles on a circle as one opens the door
Breaking the whispered hour, came an unspeakable horror
The three women, as a chorus, yelped an otherworldly roar

The town, the people, what do they know?
For as they slept as thoroughly like summer to snow
Soon they'd awake only to be invaded with hateful woe
For the three ladies left Warwick in dusk
eternally without the great big yellow