When the price was gold and pride was sold..

When mother and child on the run

gets into a crossroads on a full moon

the cat witches...

they wait by the fire

in dire hopes for the cat witch to come

They arrive in the image of old crones,

wise in the years, and ask only to share

their food and the warmth of their fire

'Fore the night is through,

they would ask the weary mother

to bind their hands around the ancient oak tree

and to chop off their claws as they emerge

'Fore the first rays of dawn touches the land

the cat and the crone separates,

the spirit, encased in silver armor,

wrestles with the cat beneath

But as the mother severs its claws

the bonds don't hold and an arm gets loose.

The mother tries with all her might

but one claw still remain.

She looked at the body of the cat witch

as the first of light did touch the land

but saw, not the unharmed body of an old crone as legend says,

but the tattered body of a black cat.

The crossroads flowed with crimson blood that day

and never again was a cat witch seen in the land.