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We must rise
To the occasion
While Angels are weak
And Daemons are strong

We are the Pagans
Don't be fooled
By the Christians
Standing tall

They call us evil
But don't believe
Because they have a grudge
Against the Magicks

Pagans are kind
We really are
But don't be fooled
By the Angel's Scar

We rise
To this occasion
To take back
What is really ours

The Pain we spent
Over the Grimoir deep
To seek the spell
To sing and speak

Our cauldron bubbles
But don't get confused
With those stereotypes

We are nice
We are kind
We worship the sky
With the earth,
The seas,
And the fire

We love
We laugh
We care
We die

We live like you do
Only we believe
In Mother Earth
And take care of her
Just the same

You must do the same
Only different all the ways

Why spread lies
And then you hide
To fear something you not know

Why think
That we are evil
Because you were told

Take your time learning
What you do not know
So you can say evil

But you will learn
We have nothing to hide
We do not take side
We love our god and goddess

We will teach you
In our ways
Then you can say
Who is wrong
Olivia Kent Oct 2014
There is a strange magic.
It circles the head.
Entrances the user before falling to bed.
A grimoir of magic, which feeds a black ***.
Perfection in a cauldron.
It's full of hubble bubble.
Feeds the *** with a potion.
Learned potions.
Touch it,
It sparks.
It's alive.
*** has a marvellous aura.
Satanic or fairy white.
A *** full of magic.
Hell it's hot.
(c) Livvi
A grimoir is a book of spells.

— The End —