A witch's brew when a coven's hooding,
A sacrifice in the woods,
A farmer's live goods,
On the lot the farm keeps for wooding,
Under a full moon but, when no stars light,
Dire times so, seems the service right,
The crops have failed,
Money lenders bailed,
Resources are dear and tight,
The coven calls back to the past,
To a dead religion who's honors last,
Before paradise gates,
With mansions, no hates,
But, harms fates resolve now, fast,
Desperate are the times that linger,
As freezing black then, lost each finger,
While starving pain,
Makes a focused brain,
Listening to a fallen singer.
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