The village sleeps and all is silent in the dark night
No dogs and the cockrel hasn't sung to break the spell.
Spirits of the wind,
You are silent too.
The stranger rocks on the tree
In his cradle of death.
Three drops of his blood fall on the dark lands
Caressed by the shadows and protected by the moon.
They have brought the great dame into our realm.
Silver is the path,
That leads to the silent woods
And three lone women
Walk praying and singing ancient liturgy.
Three low flames dance in the night,
Saint sacred and cursed
Because a spell of love
And hatred will be cast.
Milk and honey
Will be offered to the ancient motherland the witches, letting down their long hair sing their virginity to the moon.
Only the spirits have eyes for them
Only the ancients can feed on their nude and sculputer bodies that dance in the darkness.
The damp leaves stroke the hand of the lady of the witches,
She who is rendered magic and potent with the oil,
She is the lady of flight,
She is the Mandragora.
In the flash of lighting that cuts the darkness,
The great dame is pulled from the earth, root that brings visions,
Love and hate,
She is the Mandragora.
Queen of the sabba.
Bodies jerk in the frenetic dance,
To the sound of screams from the infernal realm.
The earth shakes and the witches sing,
In honour of the goddess and the dark roots.
She is the Mandragora that consecrates this great rite.