11 Mustachioed Daughters

11 Moustachioed Daughters. Running in a field of fat. The full moon high, the mandrakes speak, please come to our sabat. The changing children shiver round the fire their mothers dance. Strangely painted faces that smile but never laugh. The crow pecked gibbet's victim, swings broken in his cage His hands cut down to make a crown to wear as a homage. round and round the magic things our fingers fastly rush and wolf like things and toads with wings whisper wetly "come with us" fresh plucked eye of a favourite cat, pulped and mixed with white hens fat, a lapwings wing, and lions roar, like belladonna to make your eyes Like a beast to anoint the body and make it shine to drink and make thyself divine to choose another form and make it thine and knowledge of a blasphemy and fill the fetid air with ancient lies and leprous cries this night he will be there A madness has the mouthsgate wide, as one they sway and moan, and every brutish face is turned to see our goat kings throne worship for satan heehee