Centuries ago, in the village GreenStitch, Lived a well knowledged girl, Helvetica Black. She dressed in dark clothes, and was labeled a witch, For the smarts the rest dull townsfolk lacked.

For her hat and her cat, the wild feline Black Steve, And her love to carve pumpkins on All Hallows’ Eve. Tho she did not cast spells, never spoke or knew magic, The fires of hell proved a truth oh so tragic.

She wasn’t a witch, but the flames that were lit On the pyre that burned her for reasons unfit, Caused a curse that would blaze up an eternal flame, And bring back young Miss Black, to find those with no shame. All to blame would be damned, far across any shire, On their night to dance, with the now witch, Hellfire.