A witch in a green robe, with hair like wildfire,
walks through a carnival, with a staff, with herbs in a cluster.
She passes by a vendor who is hawking his jewels.
As she passes, her hands out, his jewels lose their luster.
And the truth of his wares is revealed.
His jewels were all fake. Their value, mere bluster.
She walks past a gypsy, with his runes in his hand.
Glancing down at his stones, she then walks away.
"Hey," he calls out, "Let me tell your fortune!"
"You already did," she replies, and he gives chase.
"Then you have to pay me," he says as he grabs her.
She smiles at him, waves her hands, and then touches his face.
Before he knows it, he's encased in green ice.
Then she drops three gold coins. "Consider this grace.
Since your runes told me where me brother is in this place."
"Fresh fruit," cries a woman, with hair black as coal.
And she wears gingham, colored of pink and blue.
The witch in green stops and takes an orange.
"Break the illusion," she waves her hands, "Leaving only what's true."
And all of her fruit was rotting and full of maggots.
"You witch," the she-vendor tries to strike the witch in green with her shoe!
"Now you stop where you are," warned the witch, waving her hand.
Her magick forced the shoe down, and the woman fell too.
For her hand was stuck to the shoe as if it were glue.
"Tell me the name of your master, and I will spare you."
A man in yellow robes, with a scarf, and no hair.
He stands on a scaffold, with a lyre in his hands.
He plays and he places, standing next to a cage.
Below the cage, a pot, and in the cage, a captured man.
The bound man wears a shirt of purple, and pants as well,
black boots and a belt, and wild hair, and a beard, both of alizarin.
Down below, a pack of wild men, holding spears.
Ready and waiting to boil this captive in this wicked plan.
He opens his mouth, and reveals his dark teeth, misshapen, a classic sign.
"And tonight, with his death," the man in yellow exclaimed, "We feast!"
He plays his lyre, and the men below swoon, his power over their minds increasing.
"To gain strength, and gain power, we shall consume this British beast!"
And his men start to poke the Brit, who is bound, crying, and helpless.
"Virgin Mary," pleads the Brit, "Get me out of this, please."
"Drop him into the pot!" And this is what they do. Down he falls.
But a blast of green magick puts the liquid on top in a freeze.
Standing there in the dark, with moonlight on her side, is the witch.
"Who is this, who is this," asks the leader, "You dare to interfere against me?"
"I want me brother back," she declares. "You cannot 'ave 'im!"
"Seize her!" His men, each with bites in their neck, run toward her, bent on fighting.
Closer and closer they near, drawing swords and sharp spikes.
She replies to the threat, by creating a cloud, that rains down green lightning.
Blast one here, blast one there, crackling, arching, and green.
The messiest lighting mankind's ever seen, a spell so destructive and frightening.
He plays his lyre and stares at the witch, with his men to a man fried.
He looks at her eyes, but she holds up a mirror, and what he sees in it is enlightening.
He throws fire at her, and she counters with ice, creating pure water.
So he tries with wind. She creates a shield of stone, barring the wind from striking.
His next spell is acid, which melts her stone shield to rubble.
"Brother, I shall free you," and around her body forms strange green lighting.
"He'll never be free." He throws a fireball. But she reflects it right back in his face.
He is thrown away, so she runs to the cage, her brother she begins untying.
"He'll never be free, and neither shall you!" The cage closes on them both anew.
"You can't 'old me," she laughs in the vamp's face. The cage instantly starts frying.
Then the fire spreads out, in an explosive blast of green magic.
The whole carnival starts burning, and the vampire jumps, and starts flying.
Green vines burst through the air, seizing him, and pulling him down.
"Let's throw 'im in the pot," the Brit says to the witch, which they do, as he is writhing.
"No," screams the vampire, as the fire melts the ice, and into the pot he is placed.
Then they brew him and boil him, as his carnival burns.
"You haven't killed me," his voice tortured as he, he is defiantly crying.
"When we leave, you come out," she explains, with a wink. For it was nearly sunrise.
Next, they open the pot, and they let their captive out.
At the precise moment that it becomes dawn.
"Nnnnnnnoooooooooooooo," he screams as the sun has its way with his flesh.
Within seconds, the vampire's existance is gone.
"Kylie dear," asked the male Brit, "Why didn't you rescue me earlier?"
"Kelly," Kylie answers, "Does it matter? 'e's played 'is last song."
And together, they sit, for hours watching the sight,
of the carnival burning in the dawn's morning light.