Twisted hands and scary faces
Popping out from unknown places
Robed, hooded, and dressed in black
I start to run, I turn my back
There's no such thing as real witchcraft
The shadows dance, the robed ones laugh
"Too slow"will be on my epitaph
Shadows hold me down
The congregation gathered round
My shape began to change
Twist, break, and rearrange
Into something foul and strange
I come to life, I'm filled with spite
Master tells me who I'll be hunting tonight
I give chase, but the towns children don't put up much of a fight
I'm growing larger now with every bite
Who is next to be hunted tonight?
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