"They're going to hang a witch"

Shall we build the scaffold high
To stretch their necks until they die?
Shall we build the fire up to send them straight to hell?
Oh it doesn't matter how they go
As long as we can make a show

Down through the mist comes the rider
The death bell tolls a warning to his prey
He'll see us all in hell the witchfinder
By torturing our life and souls away
And what kind of man is this the witchfinder
Who calls himself a holy man of the cloth?
His wretched form a constant reminder
Of all the night black hags that he's turned off

He'll seek out all our covens and destroy them
And cruelly send our sisters to their deaths
And rid our lands of powers that defy him
Until our dark lord has no servants left
And when he sees the marks of his destruction
He'll think that he rests easy in his bed
But we'll come in the night to instruct him
In the rules of the land of the living dead

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