The season of the witch is autumn long
Weird silence falls upon the throng
They smoke black [bad word] with Saturn's bong
And blast our mind with evil song
I see witches in the sky
Flying toward a Quaalude eye

Visions of light from the demons sun
Goat-headed serfs drink to this dawn
strange vintage brewed in casks oblong
In a perfumed black mass with reptile gongs