Beneath soot filled skies and pallid moon,
the crumbling roofs and smoking stacks,
a gray world lies in darkened ruin
a city asleep in shades of black.
A lone figure moves in shadows deep
a starving rat bolts from its lair,
scurrying among the littered heap
with waxen skin and raven hair.
Lightning cracks the purpled sky
lighting up the ink-like pitch,
unmasking the intruder's cry,
revealing then the wiccan bitch.
Behold the shimmering silver wreath
dancing upon her leathered breast;
while a chain of yellowed-dragon’s teeth
rattles across her jet-black crest.
With blackened lips and skin so white,
she lifts her head to release her scream,
the bones of all the dead bow low
to Gothic Princess there, the Wiccan Queen.