The Witches' Chant
Round about the barricade go,
Watch ye boys be torn by crows!
The Commander brave, the golden one.
Thy days and nights are lost, not won.
A fatal blow was what thou got.
Be the first into our pot!
Oh the beloved philosopher,
In our spell thou shall not prosper.
"Revolution but civilization", you say?
Rot until thy skin turns gray!
Lover of the songs and flowers,
Thou art no opponent for our powers.
Thou had a charm to cause some trouble.
In this hell-broth may thou broil and bubble!
The fan-maker next, the workingman.
Escape our enchantments if thee can!
Liberty was what thou cherished,
But thou art dead and thy cause has perished!
Boy who represents the centre,
'Twas a battle thou shan't have entered.
Much wit and anger was what thou was.
But forever a slave to Nature's laws.
Flee-er of a lawyer school,
Is it a wonder that thou art a ghoul?
Thou were an agitator, a breaker of Society's chains.
But alas, thou was not overly bless'd with brains!
Hairless one, call'd an eagle.
Loyal to thy companions regal.
Thine eyes could see fellow man's morality.
But not the doom of thine own mortality!
Loving sage, gayest of all.
Could thou not diagnose thy fall?
When all the hurly-burly's done,
Thou shall again never glimpse the sun!
The skeptic last. Aye, we know thy fear!
What man has ever escaped thy jeers?
The golden one, p'raps, now dead and gone?
A pity there be no-one left to stomach thy ill-sung songs!
War be bloody and war be unfair.
May these souls wander through the fog and filthy air!