The Sabbat's Sphere

Apollo’s sun, now hide thou face,

The Huntress lies in wane,

Pious folk begin to flee for home,

For darkness now doth reign



Pan’s fine followers tread their path,

Through the twisted, ancient weald,

Where collective fates are woven true,

And with arcane words are sealed



The clearing lit with firelight,

Girt by ash, birch, beech, and oak,

Robes are shed and flesh is bled,

And offerings made to smoke



Writhing limbs move as one,

An ungainly, heaving beast,

Not unnoticed by the gods,

Of the North, South, West, and East



Bee, moth, and bird begin to swarm,

Bear, wolf, and fox appear,

The fire’s arousal hits its peak,

In the heat of the Sabbat’s Sphere



So mote it be