In the forest deep, where the light won’t stay,
Through tangled roots and skies of gray,
A crooked house on chicken feet,
Turns with screams no soul repeats.
Oh Baba Yaga, queen of dread,
She walks where mortal men won’t tread.
Her breath a storm, her gaze a flame,
You’ll never leave the way you came.
She rides the wind in mortar black,
A pestle wielded for attack.
The trees all bow, the moon turns red,
The brave forget the path they fled.
Oh Baba Yaga, queen of dread,
She walks where mortal men won’t tread.
Her breath a storm, her gaze a flame,
You’ll never leave the way you came.