Black Sabbath

They journeyed far to Brocken Mountain pinnacle
A gathering of dread, an awesome spectacle
Each in his hand, a candle of black
Their faces grave, a deathlike mask
The prince assumed the person of the goat
Reigning upon his throne distant and far remote
The cauldrons boiled as the fires burned
The deep’ning shadows, two figures turned
Bubbling pots of ungents and potions
Flames revealing the obscene motions
Old hags murmur in evil ranting!
Voices grow louder and join in the chanting
Infants' flesh they did offer
For the prince to devour
Covens join, all combine
Powers strong, thoughts align
If witchcraft all the fools condemn
It turns around and crushes them
When good has been twisted
When good has been killed
Then love is resisted and blood will be spilled
Accursed ye’ll be!
From toes to eyes!
Accursed ye’ll be!
Until ye dies!