Drown the Wood in Blood

Rituals Of The Oak

In the ritual fires flames lash at my feet
And the rope sears marks of shame and defeat

The good Lord weeps upon my remains
I am not a witch - God knows my name

These severed hands of the Holy Ghost,
And the Holy Spirit are cold to my touch

All their faces surround me, in these dying breaths
They are nothing but fools - the bringers of death

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