Butcher Baker

Toil, boil, bubble, and steam.

Nightshade, gray worms, toad tongue, magic beans.

Skin 'em, slice 'em, chop 'em, bones picked clean.

Mix 'em, stir 'em, and add spices so the soup broths lean.

In goes the witches' spell so you can cook yourself.

Repeat after me:

Dragon's breath, maggot's meat, howling dog's tails, and kitten's feet.

Slobber slop, baby's teeth, winging widow tears, and Sasquatch pee.

Pray us wrong on hopeless nights; the wicked deeds of dying trees - root our life.

Farewell goes the day, bringing forth the witching hour so we may play.

Now shriek aloud and dance ye round.

Slice deep your skin from sternum to belly button.

Stitch by stitch through needle and thread, pull off your ligaments and cut off your head.

Piece by piece: organs, guts, and all shall jump into the hot broth of the witches' malt.

Slow shall ye simmer, not for nothing, but did you ever contemplate to whom shall you be dinner?

One knock, two knocks, three knocks.

With a wave of the wand and a crinkled nose, unlatches go the locks that jar thy soul.

Bursting in with a mouth wide open, emptied belly with a feast beholding.

So yummy ye look and hungry am I, waiting to taste thee is more painful than gauging out my eyes.

Fear not, my child, inside me are hundreds more that shall keep you company in the evermore.

Scrumptious ye taste, finger smacking brawn.

I shall devour this feast before the break of dawn.