Dunwich, Twowich, Redwich, Bluewich
Black witch, blue witch, old witch, new witch.
Some are chanting, some are burned,
Some are on a spit that's turned!
Yes, beasts are mewling, offers burned,
The King in Yellow has returned!
I don't know why these things are done.
Go ask the Necronomicon.
How many things the night does hide!
It's best if you remain inside.
Some with wings, and some with slime,
some with parts I won't describe.
I've heard their tales in many songs.
I'll bet they've waited very long.
About this one, dark songs are sung.
Goat of the Woods; a thousand young.
But all I see are limbs and parts;
it feasts on offered human hearts!
And here we have some things from Yig.
With tattered wings, they chew on wigs.
They got the wig of Mister Biggs.
But that's not all, I'm sad to tell.
You see, they got his head as well.
C'thulhu sleeps in deep R'lyea.
Sometimes his minions still appear.
They flap and hop, They slap and slop.
I hope they don't see me in here!
Have you tried the brains of man?
Just put them in a frying pan.
I tried them once with Sam I Am.
I won't tell you where we tried them,
Because then I'd have to hide them!
My brother found an Elder Sign,
On a bridge, near Jacob's Line.
He took it down to shine it up,
Now ancient terrors run amok!
I found this creature on the beaches.
Deep in the rocks, the furthest reaches.
Now it croaks and talks and teaches.
The deeds it asks for I can't do.
If I told you, then could you?
Last night I heard a scratching sound.
Between the walls, and under ground.
Now we can't find the neighbor's cat.
Or little Lizzy Psyches, at that!
All these creatures hop and drool,
Dripping ichor over you.
Why do they do the things they do?
Why don't you read Cultes des Goules?
The night is gone, here comes the sun.
Our sight returns, the creatures gone.
Every night, from here to there,
Fiendish things are everywhere!
