1689, Trial of the Witch

On mid-fall, to the north, year 1689

Lived a young, strange woman, high upon a hill

Her house, full of mirrors, candles all lit inside

Stairway down to the basement, locked and hidden from sight

But when the children got sick superstitions fly

No clue of the horror to come

Angry mob breaks her door down, smashing all inside

the preacher climbs the stairs down, cringes at what he finds

Pentagram circled by fire, human sacrifice

Caught praying to the other side

Burn the witch, tie her to the pyre, town rages on, cleanse with fire

The wind now rises, thunder cracks the sky

ghost from the fire, fury mirrored in her

The town now flees in terror, preacher is left behind

Falls into the black pit called Hell

Blinded in your dreams, lost souls for me to keep

Laughing in your sleep, can you feel my stare

I will return, one day, you'll see

As a ghost or in the flesh

I will haunt you, I will roam