The moon crowns the aubergine night sky
Iced over blades of grass protrude from the earth like reversed icicles
A witch hangs from the gallows
Her mouth ajar
And I can hear her still screeching like a banshee
Her eyes will pop from her skull
Snowballs
Disgusting sorceress be caste in Hell
Sweltering flames
Your hair will melt down your face
And you become a man
Your skin shrivels from your muscles
But the noose will support your body
May, you may return as a phantasm
But only as to grief your pastor
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