Testo Witchfinder General

Where the plague has scourged no crops will grow, Even ravens feed from the gallows pole, A fallow land bled by civil war, Where all are prey to the inquisitor. He comes to carve to cure the beast, With the burning zeal of a perverted priest, His pageant like a funeral cortage, Heralding a grim and new dark age. From the churchyard to the village square, Where the priest intones a mocking prayer, Innocents are dragged screaming through the streets, To teed the flames and Puritan conceit.