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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 mind with evil song
I see witches in the sky
Flying toward a Quaalude eye
Visions of light from the demons sun
Goat-headed serfs drink to this dawn
A strange vintage brewed in casks oblong
In a perfumed black mass with reptile gongs
