The Witch - Depression

It's eerie, something terrible is lurking,
Not the shadow of death.
No, not his shadow, this is darker.

Don't you touch it, it'd stain your hands.

This is with claws of a hungry witch,
Ravenous and bereaved, her wails sound like laughs

Don't you go near, she'll slash through your skin.

Scary and scarred. Her wounds boil on her skin
But she dances to whispers under the half moon.

With dried blood on her teeth she goes through hearts.
Her laughs,
Sounds like hundreds of witches celebrating.

Take her home
And her blood would foam

Her style is different. She takes her vessel
And makes it die by its own hands
After she'd sucked it dry.

Her vessel,
She paints with blood
She eats the heart when no one is looking
She heats the head when it's all clear
She blocks the ears and the eyes
And she makes the vessel die of hunger and thirst.

This witch, this dark old witch is not without a name
She chants praises of her dark victory.

The vessel may leave a note, family or friends
In tears.

They say it's suicide. They don't know, but we do;
We saw the red painting, we heard the chants.

It may tell of love untold
Or of hatred that can't behold another

Erase!

No eraser can erase the very painting of this witch

What's going on here?
That's the question, but we know even when you don't
For she has suckled away a million hearts and she counts on!
She counts on, and on the ones on whom people count.

This witch, her name we have come to tell.
We told it in whispers, but now we'd shout,
We'd shout because it's bitten more of us.
Yes! We would shout her name in a myriad voices
Voices that could arouse the waves of the sea

Her name is a fire on our very tongues.
How do we call it without burning our lungs?
How do we shout it without burning down our houses?

Albeit we would burn, we would tell!

We would hold hands, and we would shout,
We would love and let unity be our mercury.
Never let her in. We love you!