Webbing boney nubbed fingers through the bitter photos she flees,
A witch! A harlot! Absconding of these.
Passing through the cauldron she stirs,
A life with a family was never granted hers,
Slithering through her nails she picks,
A knife to her victims across their throat it sticks!
Flesh from the bodies hit the gurney like bricks,
like the clock hanging above the shelves as it tick, tick, ticks!
The ember, oh the ember of my darling december,
the witch of which I had to switch the blood from her veins.
My heart it shakes,
it shatters and breaks!
As for you a harlot it takes,
My fair share of my pocket you snare,
If I had any brains I'd relinquish these pains.
The smoldering smoke from your *** as you rot,
as for the cauldron of the witch being strikingly hot.
Death of myself comes to being,
as for the hanging of a witch I've grown to be seeing.
Death on the gallows!
Death for all to be!
For the ones with the cauldron,
and the ones to be.