When the moon hangs high in the sky,
and the fog sets low on the ground.
Let her guide you through the woods,
to a place lost and never found.

'Round the house by the river,
the cemetery stretches the gate.
In the cool autumn air,
the chosen one they shall await.

Come to the Sabbat!
On this foreboding night.
Come to the Sabbat!
The Great Owl surveys.
Doomed...

Blue flames illuminate thirteen;
these women in gowns of black,
all with pale beautiful faces.
Moving so graceful, they leave no tracks.

Come to the Sabbat!
On this foreboding night.
Come to the Sabbat!
The Great Owl surveys.
Doomed...

...as each stirs the cauldron thrice,
now you sense things are not right.
Under their spell, no turning back.
Never should have come here this night.

Come to the Sabbat!
Come to the Sabbat!
Come to the Sabbat!
Come to the Sabbat!

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