Witches spread, and not just their legs.
Is there a house in a sudden chosen by death?
The reason might not hide within, but three doors ahead.
Is there a body falling apart?
The reason might be the other one that waved at them a few days ago.
Every smile, every song, and every breath can bring decay in a world that‘s made of flesh and blood and bones.
Now you‘re worried that you might get caught?
That you‘ve hugged an unlucky one, that your voice was too sweet with the window still open?
There‘s nothing to worry about if you‘re ever just as tasteless as a bag of flour.
My witch giggles over my shoulder. „I died as a chili pepper“, she would sing, having lost her pants wherever she just came from.
And we‘re laughing by the open window much too loud.
Mistress witch writes 