Like the medievil ages, They want to burn all prophets, And sages. Cast a whispered spell, You must be a bitch from hell, They hate women, Like we're an unholy host, 'Cause we're the bearers of men, We give life to those who want to kill us the most. From the ashes of Salem, To the Conjure green woods, We rise like Delphine, And smite like one of her moods. We're the villains in their holy books, Dancing naked under a full, fat moon, The witches of Columtreal , Riding the shadows on our brooms. We're the granddaughters, Of the wisest of women, And crones, The ones they failed to burn, Or who cursed them with their final tongues, Hung, and drowned, Set on fire until they are embers, Names forgotten to time, But the vengeance lives on in us, And vengeance, She always remembers. From the ashes of Salem, To the Conjure green woods, We rise like Delphine, And smite like one of her moods. We're the villains in their holy books, Dancing naked under a full, fat moon, The witches of Columtreal, Riding the shadows on our brooms. Burn us, If you must. Fear us, Which is why in you we can never trust. Our sisterhood, Is sacred, Something you'll never understand. We're guided by Hecate and Diana, And the goddess mystic hands. From the ashes of Salem, To the Conjure green woods, We rise like Delphine, And smite like one of her moods. We're the villains in their holy books, Dancing naked under a full, fat moon, The witches of Column-trail, Riding the shadows on our brooms. Riding the shadows on our brooms. From the ashes of Salem, To the Conjure green woods, We rise like Delphine, And smite like one of her moods. We're the villains in their holy books, Dancing naked under a full, fat moon, The witches of Columtreal Riding the shadows on our brooms.
