Magicians, witches, crones and bitches
Withered crops and skin that itches
Pagan prayers howled at the moon
The hour of their destruction looms
Magicians, witches, crones and bitches
They live not by our fair wishes
Abhorrent gestures and ancient words
Poison dram and bitter herbs
Magicians, witches, crones and bitches
Backs bent 'neath our righteous switches
They serve not the god we do
So we break them under wheel and boot
Magicians, witches, crones and bitches
In the caves and in the thickets
They send vile prayers into the night
Under their curse we do indict
Magicians, witches, crones and bitches
They wallow in ill-gotten riches
The butcher's blade will cut and carve
So that our people shall not starve
Magicians, witches, crones and bitches
The people have made their decision
To cut them down in squalid sin
To exterminate their kith and kin
Magicians, witches, crones and bitches
Hang like fruit, necks broke and twisted
Cast them into the abyss
Lest they call up a dread eclipse
Magicians, witches, crones and bitches
Dead eyes bulge and death nerve twitches
We light them up in offering
We heed not their cries of suffering
Magicians, witches, crones and bitches
Burn in piles or bloat in ditches
We set their bodies all ablaze
To cleanse the county of their ways
Magicians, witches, crones and bitches
Pay not heed to our religion
So blood is spilt and limbs are sawed
For ours is such a jealous god
Magicians, witches, crones and bitches
Buried deep in wells and trenches
Where they'll whisper not another sound
As they rot and run into the ground
Magicians, witches, crones and bitches
With their inner sight and sundry stenches
A shuffling horde of satan's slaves
They claw out of their moldy graves
Magicians, witches, crones and bitches
All that we have left are wishes
Which we scream into empty skies
Devoid of ears, devoid of eyes
Magicians, witches, crones and bitches
We've left behind our superstitions
We petition the celestial throne
As they tear our flesh, as they break our bones
Magicians, witches, crones and bitches
Pointing fingers, spiteful liches
Even now they don't repent
But feast on vengence long undreamt