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The season of the witch is autumn long

Weird silence falls upon the throng

They smoke black drugs with Saturn's bong

And blast our minds with evil song

I see witches in the sky

Flying toward a Quaalude eye

Visions of light from the demon sun

Goat-headed serfs drink to this dawn

A strange vintage brewed in casks oblong

In a perfumed black mass with reptile gongs