Under the fullmoon, into the swamp you lurk...
In search of the horrid secrets of [bad word] 
To the house made of Virgin's bones hides
The abode of the witch, of whence home return...

Moss hangs from the roof like a corpse's hair,
Cypress roots stick through the scum like fingers.
Even reptile horrors do shrink in FEAR from it.
But all too curious, you knock upon Her door...
 [bad word]  Into your foolish mind my nightmare spells shall sleep
deep under the black swamp-waters, you shall SLEEP...