House of Harrow

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From bitter Witch's candle glow,

A crow and rat weave tales of woe,

Mayhem regards, Flea watcheth soon,

The horrors beneath her beldam loon.

Up on the hill, children are prey,

The catlike game Witch loves to play,

Their crying souls could ne'er survive,

Her hunger fed, though still alive.

Beware Harrow, shadow, Hag of wax,

Too late! She comes. The crone attacks!