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de Wizzard

An old crow sat there greeting the looming dawn
That was undressing the atrocity darkness had adorned
By the growls of the hound of god the gallows had been
built
Three bodies hanging as ugly fruit of unholy guilt

Nobody could forebode
What they would concede
The Witchfinder General
The serum of god to make you speak

And the sun set over Lavenham
(burn, burn, burn)
Pyres fed the righteous desires
Sundown over Lavenham
(burn, burn, burn)
Witches burnt in a holy fire

Little did he know about the powers
That were present yet unseen
The bells of his funeral were already chiming
But blinded was he by his greed
Satan did not abandon his disciples
That for long had sworn to his might
The iron fist of evil was squeezing the town
The legions of Hell would rule the night
Crawl, hound of god, crawl!

The old crow sat there watching the descending night
Witches dragged the wailing General to die
Stultifying the erodicated divine power
The menace to their nocturnal rites was over

He couldn't forebode
Witchcraft was reality
The Witchfinder General
The hound of god down on his knees

And the sun set over Lavenham
(burn, burn, burn)
Only embers remained from the pyres
Sundown over Lavenham
(burn, burn, burn)
Hopkins burning in Hellfire

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