Through veils of obsidian mist,
Where nightshade blooms in twisted groves,
The witches gather in the crypt,
And chant their dark forbidden troves.

The cauldron bubbles black as night,
With potions made of ancient fear,
By candlelight and lunar sight,
They summon forces dark and drear.

Hexes woven in the dark,
Curses etched in ancient bark,
Spells that bind and tear apart,
The witches' craft, the blackened art.

Their cloaks of raven feather flow,
As they circle 'round the pyre,
Their incantations ebb and grow,
As flames ascend ever higher.

In this sabbath of the cursed,
Where good and evil have reversed,
The pentagram glows crimson bright,
As they dance through endless night.

Hexes woven in the dark,
Curses etched in ancient bark,
Spells that bind and tear apart,
The witches' craft, the blackened art.

When dawn arrives, they disappear,
But their hexes still remain here.

Hexes of the Coven

80s nostalgic goth project that channels the darkest depths of melancholy and industrial grit. Named after the Sindarin word for “black waters”.

New tracks tagged #ancient rites