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
