When midnight crowns the silent sky, And silver veils the sleeping land, The ancient stars awaken high, And shadows rise at my command. The church bells toll, the ravens cry, The candles bend before the flame, I hear the voices passing by, And whisper forth the forbidden name. Upon the hill where dead leaves lie, Beneath the pale and waning moon, The children of the night draw nigh, To wake the gods who slumber soon. Black incense curls toward heaven's gate, The circle burns upon the stone, The hour is dark, the hour is late— The living world is not alone. This is the witching hour, That leads men destroyed, Because this is the power, That leads them into the void. At the witching hour, Under moon and star, What was lost awakens, What was hidden comes afar. Three times the silver dagger gleams, Three times the sacred bell is heard, Between the waking and the dreams I speak the language without words. O spirits bound to earth and flame, O sovereign shades of elder time, By blood, by night, by secret name, Arise beyond the mortal sign. The moon grows black. The candles die. The dead remember How once they died. The wind now speaks From crypt and grave— No mortal prayer Can make us safe. Come forth, ye lords of ancient night, From ruined temple, crypt and wood. Come forth beneath the dying light, And claim again what once was good. Let mortal reason fade away, Let flesh surrender unto night. For what is born before the day Shall walk again beneath the light. This is the witching hour, That leads men destroyed, Because this is the power, That leads them into the void. At the witching hour, Hear the midnight call— The kingdom underneath us Shall rise and claim us all.
