The Hidden Grave

attic

In her Attic room stood a shrine
Made for ancient relics, evil or divine
On Christmas eve she took her own life
What a tragedy, but what she did was heresy

Black magic, alchemy
Giving worship to pagan gods is blasphemy
Her relatives entombed at the local grave mound
But for her disgrace, she’s buried in unholy ground

Funeral in the woods
Her shame is not over yet
A wooden cross between the trees
But she won’t rest in peace

Funeral in the woods
Damned to rot alone
A wooden cross between the trees
But she won’t rest
She won’t rest in peace

In her Attic room stood a shrine
Made for ancient relics, evil or divine
On the skirts of the wood, they found her
Hanging on a tree, oh what she did was heresy
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