A Two-Bit Witch

Her reach for self-glory
A most unpleasant story
Not fun to re-tell
The tale of her hell
(Didn't go very well)

She waits with impatience for the magic to start
She said that it's love but it's push with no heart
She looked at your eye then you started to twitch
You got hooked, little fish, by a two-bit witch.

She made you feel good
When she showed you the store,
You felt grateful inside
You had wished you had more

She said "have some cool"
Then you started to itch,
The goal is control
For a two-bit witch

Now that you're further weakened
And sense never seekin'
Nothing's right where you're at
All your food turns to fat

You're hot on the outside,
Cold on the inside
Now you can't even cry,
Do you want to know why?

      You got bit on the butt buy a progress slut
      You got scratched in the snitch by a gnostic bitch

When you gave up on wisdom
Then you started to twitch
You were scammed then flim-flammed
By a two-bit witch

      You got bit in the butt by a two-bit witch
      You've been scratched on the snitch by a two-bit witch
      You developed a rash, then you fell for the pitch
      The weak are a meal for a two-bit witch.

She said "Free your ass and your mind will follow"*
After time you could see that her actions were hollow

It's going to take work to escape and proceed
It ain't like this witch, in the end, will succeed

Though sad to see all this futility's hurt,
Oh, most blessed day, when this witch will revert

     You searched without meaning, then developed a twitch
     You were bound and then tamed by the two-bit witch.

She gave up long ago
That hard-minded bitch
Now she seeks your lifeforce,
She's our two-bit witch.

(*An inversion of the teaching of Funkadelic, July 1970, and the Buddha, Christ and Tao, much earlier.)

The Elixir, by George Herbert

Teach me, my God and King,

In all things Thee to see,

And what I do in anything

To do it as for Thee.

Not rudely, as a beast,

To run into an action;

But still to make Thee prepossest,

And give it his perfection.

A man that looks on glass,

On it may stay his eye;

Or it he pleaseth, through it pass,

And then the heav'n espy.

All may of Thee partake:

Nothing can be so mean,

Which with his tincture—"for Thy sake"—

Will not grow bright and clean.

A servant with this clause

Makes drudgery divine:

Who sweeps a room as for Thy laws,

Makes that and th' action fine.

This is the famous stone

That turneth all to gold;

For that which God doth touch and own

Cannot for less be told.