Friday, November 25, 2016


Radical heads cleaved and conspirator hung
From out of dark, tortured confession sung
And never imagine our malice cannot return
That on high pyres, witches again may burn
After all, only eight christening gowns ago
Heretics were destroyed upon a fiery inferno
Now scarce we can believe that we did such ill
But remember in other lands, it happens still
Here they wait for the dark days to reappear
To hunt down the weak, the free and the queer
Liberty is a currency each generation must earn
Only vigilance can stop the archaic night's return