Her Keens Will Echo These Cursed Woods

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Billy Creepshow

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Witchcraft of the Celtic form
Digs in the Church's side like a thorn
In the dark of the Irish country side
The inquisitors go on a death ride
Her keens will echo these cursed woods
Her keens will echo these cursed woods
Women of the craft, completely unknowing
Arms tattooed in blue, their breasts showing
Prayers for the dead and potions for the sick
The believers view as evil as the Devil's tongue flicks
All through the night their huts are burned
Forced confessions, wheels of torture turn
But for the women that would not be afraid
Were the ones that had their flesh so pitifully flayed
Her keens will echo these cursed woods
Her keens will echo these cursed woods
At the hands of the state, the punishment is death
The cries of the dead bounce amongst the trees
Eternally to shriek their last breath
The fate of a witch's spirit is to be a banshee
Her keens will echo these cursed woods
Her keens will echo these cursed woods

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