The midst of the wood is a good place to be
On this last of October when spirit and ghost
Are abroad in the night, a pale spectral host
That circle the witches whose bonfire we see.
They dance round the balefire, naked and wild
Their power is crackling, the moon turning red.
They shriek to the sky and they call to the dead
On this last of October when night things are riled.
The midst of the wood is a good place to be,
In a place that exists between living and dead,
To dance as a witch while the Spirits are free.
The cauldron is boiling and I would be there
As they spin in the smoke, as their shouts fill my head,
To dance as a witch in the chill midnight air.