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A stormy night of deadly proportions
Hidden in an old barn a peasant woman lies
About to give birth to a bastard child

Wanted for a crime she never understood
She's just a scapegoat, they say she's but a whore
Killed her lover, hung him by the neck
Now the witchhunter lusts for her head

Going into labour, she just can't keep still
Screams of pain echo in the night
The vengeful mob breaks open the door
The finger points the order: "Kill the whore"!

Rusty knives are cutting though her neck
Carving up her stomach, ripping out her son
"Take the bastard child away
it will be dealt with, within time"!

As they march down the road
Back to city hall
An eerie voice wails;
"I will have your children's souls"!

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