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Six are bound for sacrifice, appeasing gods with ritual vice

as drummers beat this gravid air in painted masks with skin laid bare

the chanters spin their woeful yarns while dancers weave beneath the stars

and shadows lurch before the fire to sate voracious spirits’ ire.

Call upon our heaven’s might to invoke ephemeral rites

obscured in smoke and ember glow, our legends built on lies of old.

Cascading feet abuse the ground as throbbing throats intone aloud

in cries so shrill they wake the night; our wails stave off their godly spite.

Knives flash crimson drawing red while uttered words excite the dead

who add their chorus to this spell imbuing us with a power so fell

our eyes turn green and open mouthed we end this heathen cycle now,

with arms aloft we cease to spin; the six have breathed their final in.