At the side of the cold hill,
just after the broken road
Where no bird sings,
lived the one that they were afraid of

Raised by her mother so that she can walk in her steps
Haunted by her memory, possessed by the heredity

In this barrow, lashed, heading for the stake
Beautiful, her ashes, once burned for him

Piercing the night
like the comet astride her broom through dark clouds
Clothed in the sky under the horned moon,
she went with glee to the Sabbath

Through wild dances abandoned of any modesty
With him,
The Forked Hooves, she lived a sexual ecstasy

An ice wind, an eternal tempest
A howling gale which will shake the world
The one they called "the witch"
has transcended her physical form
That will never end, once burned for him

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