| Season of the witches they have gathered on the hill
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| For the kill, for the kill for the rite of sacrifice
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| In their minds they are right the blood must flow tonight
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| They believe they’ll receive the gift of life itself
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| Flames are burning high
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| All are they are servants of the fallen one
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| He who turned away turned away from light
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| They are witches, witches of the magic
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| Witches of black magic
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| In the darkness there’s presence it’s a calling and a sign
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| He is here fell the fear hanging in the air
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| And the flesh feed the flame so unholy yet divine
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| And the fire in their eyes slowly fade and die
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| Flames are burning high
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| All are here they are servants of the fallen one
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| He who turned away turned away from light
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| The flames are rising higher up this pagan rite of sacrifice
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| Makes your blood turn to ice
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| Their naked body’s bathe in blood illuminated by the moon
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| They know he will come soon
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| Have you seen the witches dance?
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| In the night by an open fire
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| And their bodies move to the fiddle’s tune
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| For a single night each year
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| All are here they are servants of the fallen one
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| He who turned away turned away from light |