They called her evil
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Hung her from a tree
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Mistook her medicine
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For wicked sorcery
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Wiley old woman
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With no family of her own
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To Hell with Christians
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May they reap what they have sown
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For weeks her captors held her
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In a dungeon dark and damp
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Her body broken
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Thumbs pulverized by clamps
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Yet her mind was strong
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For no wrong had she done
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She feared not life or death
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Her purpose became one:
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Reject the teachings of a greedy perverse church
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Spreading subordinance and lies of virgin birth
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She’d taught the secrets of the forests, seas and skies
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The cycles of the moon
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And all the earth provides
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Captured when her heathen home was raided
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Turned in by the villagers she'd aided
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And when they took her
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To the oak tree where she'd hang
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She raised her bloodied head
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In crystal voice she sang
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«Dīs Pater, Spirits of the dead
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I fear not what awaits
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For just's the life I've lead
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May your guilt
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Live deep within your blood
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May stress and cancers blossom
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As a flower buds!»
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Now we wonder where the worlds magic has gone
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We search the continents for some truth to hang on
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But I know we've lost much knowledge once possessed
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Burned, broken, hung
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By Christ our Lord suppressed
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Burned, broken, hung
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Let Jesus' will be done |