A savant, a wise woman, in the greenwood, hidden,
Out of the way, of all those bastards of the church.
Her curses removed revenge from the material sphere
Laid out the alchemical elements to cancel wealth and fear.

We knew the wisdom of the witch, and so did those
Dressed in the finest of clothes. They tried to burn
Her, reckoning that the church knew more than
Our old religion of love, that had gone before. Few did.

In the shadows of the forest, in the dappled of the light,
Druids and the alchemist do their work in deepest night.
Sympathetic magic, strength through empathy,
The rising of the poor and the buzzing of the bee:

Reclaim the old religion of love for love's own sake,
I speak through darkened shades, awake in my grave.
 

 

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