Paganistan: Notes from the Secret Commonwealth
In Which One Midwest Man-in-Black Confers, Converses & Otherwise Hob-Nobs with his Fellow Hob-Men (& -Women) Concerning the Sundry Ways of the Famed but Ill-Starred Tribe of Witches.
Hobman
Him's our hobman, Hob's man, him what gives his body over, over to Old Hob.
Old Hob, him he throws he's shadow over. Hob's man.
Don't you go a-steppin' in he's shadow, now.
Wi' he's eyes sees, wi' he's ears hears, wi' he's tongue speaks, he do, then.
Him don't wear Old Hob's mask, no. No, that old mask wear he.
Most ways, him's our man, like to me and ye. Most ways, any road.
Come Sabbat, though, him he throw he's shadow over.
Even everyday-like, though, be shadow of that shadow over he.
So mind ye don't go a-steppin' in he's shadow, now, ye hear?
Mind ye. Mind ye well.
Comments
-
Please login first in order for you to submit comments