plague

They had dragged her down to the dungeon,
her crime was evil they said,
betwitched as the men were....
They wanted the fair witch dead.

Her arms were battered and wounded,
her eyes hollows of death.
She cried for last trial-
one last trial before her death.

They urged her up the pyre;
They tied her up a stake.
She cried for one man's mercy;
She promised , she was not fake.

No one dared to touch her,
lest the plague befall again.
The poison would soon touch them,
and drive them all insane.

The women we standing indoors
hoping god would see.
His child is being murdered
for setting her kind free.

They danced and danced around her
chanting old verses from the sricpt.
Waiting for fire to strike her
while her women silently wept.

As the golden light was fading
and goldens flames arose.
She closed her eyes in prayer;
chanting her own little prose.

The clouds above were angry,
angry as the gods tonight.
To kill gods own daughter,
was almost a terrible sight.

Then lightening struck at the pyre
and she rose above them all.
All women ran outdoor
at last, the plague did befall.

The men who gagged and tied her,
their bodies were burning bright.
Though not from the golden fire,
but from the heavenly light.

Slowly they moved backwards
into the darkness and hell.
All men who hurt their loved ones,
their women they would sell.

They ran from the spectacle
ran fast to escape the plage.
But as plagued their own hearts were
they got hit hard instead.

Their faces had come off already;
their hands were filled with boils.
Their bodies burning and twisting;
all punishment for their toils.

They bent down in prayer,
hoping to be saved at last.
The fair witch rose above all;
now that her spell was cast.