The old crone walks the land tonight
Her hounds baying with all their might
Warning all who hear their call
Of the ills that could befall
Anyone foolish enough to go a walking
When the Wilde Hunt goes a stalking.
Across the night sky they ride
Striking fear, making you tremble inside
But to ride with them is not fun
Until your time for this life is done
For they are the soul reapers
Of Death's door they are the keepers.
They come for those who have departed
For whom a new life will be started
Returning at daybreak to the tomb
Returning them to the pregnant mother's womb
From which all life springs
With all the joys and sorrows it brings.
So tonight when you go to revel
Remember this and be careful
Make sure to stay with friends you know
Tell someone where you plan to go
And be wary of the old and aged ghostly host
Who cries "May the Black Sow take the hindmost!"