Souls Sang
The witch was already dead,
she lumbered up the side steps,
shaking her clammy head,
she wore no make-up,
her face was pale and old,
her eyes empty and cold,
around her neck hung a crucifix,
but it was upside down,
her dry feet dragging on the ground,
others witches wept,
and it appears that they haven’t slept,
as she placed her head through the noose,
not too tight,
and not too loose,
souls sang,
and for the fifth time,
she would hang.
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