A faint taste of woodsmoke travels lightly on the breeze,
The sounds of ritual chanting weakens them at the knees.
What is this thing we are seeing? Oh tell us,, inform us please!
What are the works a’doing that causes our blood to freeze?
Two thousand years of hatred comes from the “mother” church,
Millenia of persecution sprang forth from THAT birth,
Inquisitions and fear that tried to ban us from this earth,
And all of it came to nothing, the burnings were of no worth.
Saint Patrick went to Ireland to drive the snakes all out,
He’s the one, if you ask me, who should have had a clout!
“Convert the snakes to christians!” was his battlecry and shout,
And he did his task with alacrity, of this there is no doubt.
And all that time and all the hunting, some pagans, they did remain,
Quietly, behind closed doors, celebrated many sabbats of Samhain,
And kept the knowledge and the lore of our old gods locked safe in their brains,
And passed it on through bardic tale, for the youngsters in craft, to train.
And today we gather here, in this circle, safe and sound,
Protected by the watchers And Lord Arawn’s three greyhounds,
Some of those folk still want of us our beating fleshy pound,
But “No more” says I “Never again, shall we hide under the ground!”