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They called her evil
Hung her from a tree
Mistook her medicine
For wicked sorcery

Wiley old woman
With no family of her own
To Hell with Christians
May they reap what they have sown

For weeks her captors held her
In a dungeon dark and damp
Her body broken
Thumbs pulverized by clamps

Yet her mind was strong
For no wrong had she done
She feared not life or death
Her purpose became one:

Reject the teachings of a greedy perverse church
Spreading subordinance and lies of virgin birth
She'd taught the secrets of the forests, seas and skies
The cycles of the moon
And all the earth provides

Captured when her heathen home was raided
Turned in by the villagers she'd aided
And when they took her
To the oak tree where she'd hang
She raised her bloodied head
In crystal voice she sang,

"Dīs Pater, Spirits of the dead,
I fear not what awaits
For just’s the life I’ve lead
May your guilt
Live deep within your blood
May stress and cancers blossom
As a flower buds!"

Now we wonder where the worlds magic has gone
We search the continents for some truth to hang on
But I know we've lost much knowledge once possessed
Burned, broken, hung,
By Christ our Lord suppressed
Burned, broken, hung
Let Jesus' will be done

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