Lyrics

THE WITCHING HOUR

She's a sliver of sleepy moon,
flushed, rising from rest,
Shivering on the water,
shimmying into her dress
Of transparent cloud-cotton,
perfumed with cypress.
In the witching hour
Haunted by her caress.

She's the cool breeze at sundown.
the sun sighing at its death,
Going out calm but bloody,
savoring its last breath.
Its death rattle in the treetops
shaking off their fall dress.
In the witching hour
Haunted by her caress.

She's hiding in the shadows
of the late afternoon,
Laying in ambush
for the rising of the moon,
The incense of the autumn
burning in her room.
In the witching hour
Haunted by her perfume.