Elder witchlings, eye summon thee!
Tis I, the tree dweller, eater of those mosses and lichens that maketh other imbibers wretch!
Witchlings, cometh!
Witchlings, I beseech thee, in the name of the moon!
In the name of Pan! In the name of Diana, moon hunter!
Reveal ye’re bitchly, witchly selves and I to you will give gifts!
A gold-spun horse-hair purse! A metal pig with living fleshly entrails!
A soup made of fresh virgin human meat, cut to cubes!
To thee I will give that which ye demand!
Corn flakes! Elixirs! Silver dust poured o’er goat drool!
Cometh! Cometh!
Midnight is nigh! I am high! You are bi!
Bye the bye and sigh the sigh!
Diggith ye ye’re way out of yer day graves!
Hide not yerselves but show thee! Show thee!
Show thee to me and eye will give ye such pleasures as ye only ha' dreamed on!
We'll dance on each other like hoppin’ trampolines!
I’ll dance around ye like a slow-leapin’ squirrelly,
And give ye a taste o’ me life-blood by bitin' yer lips!
Oooooh come out!
Do! ‘N plee wi’ mee!
PLEE WI' MEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!
