The witches
Roam the marches
With evil
In their minds
They bend
Beneath the arches
In the search
For womankind
The men
Say we should suffer
As we
Bring forth life
They watch
And wait and mutter
But each
Cares not for his wife
They hunt
Us with their certainties
They will burn
Us at the stake
They hate us
For our dirty knees
And the choice of life
We make
The Witchfinder
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