The Camberwell ladies black magic coven meets regularly every Thursday.
They discard their corsets to worship Beelzebub, in a very middle class way,
After a glass or two of sherry, they don a mask ceremonially covering their face.
With naked feverish abandon they dance swaying to the music of Liberace.
What a chilling scene to behold, matronly ladies cavorting so devil may care.
False teeth gnash as ecstatic groans and moans add horror to the whole affair.
Finally spent, as Midnight chimes, they offer their knitting to Menzies the goat.
On Friday’s meeting at the Women’s Institute they wink at each other and gloat.
After deciding what charitable deeds to support they discuss the book of the day,
Whilst all the time a tingle with girlish glee looking forward to their next Soiree