There they stand on hill top high
Swaying in the wind, leaves blowing by
Anchored to the earth by their feet
Skyclad in praise of the Gods they seek

The hour grows late and the air cold
They raise their naked limbs as if to hold
The full moon in their combined grasp
Each shaking from the cold refusing to gasp

They call without voices, loud and clear
Call to their Gods, call without fear
The All Hallow’s Eve beckons them on
Begging them to finish their song