All heads seem to look up now,
As the witch begins to bow.
She is the last of the witch race,
For her death, all things are in place.
She was mistress to the king himself,
For her beauty had surpassed an elf’s.
They began to die; his kinsmen and kin.
The bishop said its his payment for sin.
For two months, a witch is killed as routine,
She’s flogged, tortured and sent to the guillotine.