• Burning high above the sky,
    The moon hangs silver and glowing,
    She looks down upon her brood,
    And smiles with mischeivous knowing.

    "Go forth, little ghosts," She whispers slyly,
    "Go forth and greet the night;
    Be devils, little children,
    And do not hesitate to fight,

    For you are my children, my humble brood,
    And the love I feel for you knows no bounds;
    But your father is waiting, hovering,
    To snatch you and chain you, like dogs in a pound.

    So go forth, little devils!
    Little witches, little vamps!
    Go forth and meet your master,
    That most Infernal of Spiritual lamps!"

    The discontent, the mischeivous,
    Those with secrets the hide,
    Creep upwards from the graveyard shadows,
    and lying in shadows, they bide,

    For their father, the greatest of Evil,
    Is seen, tramping through the night,
    Oh, that mischevious joker,
    Whose charming grin hides might

    Unlike any seen before him,
    Nay, any seen in all of time,
    Past or present, or future,
    He is all and one, a mine

    Of knowledge and ancient wisdom,
    Superstition and lore,
    Steeped in quiet suffering,
    Screams, and despair, and gore.

    The king of the night,
    That greatest of Evil,
    Puck at his worst,
    Goes forth to gather his children...

    And set them loose on the world...