It's Witching Hour.

I gather up my herbs and tools,
Excitement in my bones,
Anticipation: every step,
Despite my old limbs' groans.

My nightshade, ivy in my bag,
My steele held at my side,
My thoughts of death and blackest ills,
Of things one can't abide.

Off to meet my sisters there,
My fellow hags, tonight,
Where practices of the dark arts,
Will shine on this dark night.

We'll catch ourselves a werewolf,
A vampire's tooth we'll steal,
Chip the limbs off graveyard dead,
It'll make our witching meal.

The fullest moon to watch our deeds,
The stars they hide, for we-
Are what the world fears most, right now,
It's Witching Hour, you see.