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Archive for September, 2013

In the name of the Goat, by the Peacock’s Green Eye,
May my puckril this night come take me to fly
To the glorious Sabbat where burns a great fire
and all the Light there shall I stealth’ly acquire.

The serpent’s sharp tongue, the hare’s quick run,
The toad’s great leap, the wolf’s wisdom deep.
The grace of the stag, the cunning of the fox;
by the bright burnished key, I’ll unlock all the locks.
From the track and the hill, from the stone and the lake
By oak, ash, and thorn, wound with red thread I take
These gifts and all I twine them about,
Thout-tout-a-tout, Thout-tout-a-tout:
My heart and my groin, my hand and my eye.
By the secret endeavor may I Die ‘fore I die.

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