A poor young girl’s on the run for her life
From a dungeon in chains in tears in fright,
Hounds on her heels, horses spurred with might
Chasing after the witch on the run for her life.
Then she stopped at a village miles away
And sought a refuge in the name of charity
To save her poor soul in calumny of foul play
By which she would be burn at stake and die away.
Thereafter on a hill atop the village for ever,
The girl is seen – but not heard in daylight,
The girl is heard – but not seen at night
On a hill atop the village that had a murder
On its conscience, for no one goes there – Never.
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