Ride, ride...look up at the sky
There is a witch up above.
Does she know that we could hide
Holding her broom in her black glove?
She lets out a moonless laugh
I wish that the sun would come out at last
The witch rides on a darkening path
This memory will be so vast.
Now the doors close
But I can still hear the trees rustle
I lay in my bed in a scared pose
The sun rose, but I didn't move a muscle.