How eerie the Toad, the Sabbat horse,
which Faeries ride crossing earthen veins.
What eldritch book reveals the verse
that unlocks the door behind the rain?
Through stoney keyhole we may pinch
on fennel stock, or crouch in ragwort reeking,
all manner of ill things from which mortals flinch
have but the witch drunk on swelter'd venom seeking.
With the forkéd bone as a star on my breast,
and its breath the boon of well-whispered words,
by the True Toad hard Fate shall my soul arrest
as I pass to the Castle on a bridge of swords.