7 October 2012
Bottles and bottles, They line the walls, On a hook is a cloak, Eaten and mothballed,
Little yellow eyes scowl, Over a hooked nose, Dressed all in black, Even her pantyhose,
A mouse keeps its fleas, As in walks her cat, The witch looks up, And crooks her pointed hat,
Great big round cauldron, With a liquid blood red, One sip to find love, Two to raise the dead.
Witchy • Opuss № I