Night On Brocken

April thirtieth, the souls of the risen are leading the way. The first of May. Black magic night, witches holiday, their torches glow. Eternal evil, it summons the lords of hell, just once a year, compel and beware the spell of the jackyl. Can't break the spell, won't break the spell, the spell of the shadowless man. The witches fornicate, the demons dance, blackmass romance. In hellish praise round Brocken they prance, their numbers grow. A harpie chants, fire fountains glow, virgin of snow burnt by the torch of the one with no shadow. I saw his face, I've seen him before,