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Below on timeless rolling down ancient circle strong

Composed of time worn standing stones its origin long gone

Then suddenly a strange event appears for who might see

A phantom line of men in white appears cross the lea

From whence they came no one could say, they were suddenly there

They chanted with low and steady tread they moved in censored air

They cast no shadows as they passed into the circles bound

No faces peered from out their cowls, no footprints on the ground

A flash of golden sickled blades, not held by human hands

In ritual conclave, magic rites long practiced by the band

Then as a thousand times before upon this hollowed sight

The phantom slowly fades away, returning to the night of magic