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There I sit beleaguered at my tablets in the pitch

Rewriting what needs rewriting with wisdom of the witch

In a chamber in a dungeon deep in an iron chest

Gather up the wick and wax and flick our gaseous best

Creeping down the paragraphs

Disappearing line by line

Editing the fire phrases

Wither off the vine

And so now, the burning begins

Crackling of parchment, box made of tin

Bible burner

In my veins boils blood from Hell itself

And the illusion of a good book slowly sinks

But the epistle for the flock’s little angel wings

Creeping down the paragraphs

Disappearing line by line

Editing the fire phrases

Wither off the vine

And so now, the burning begins

Crackling of parchment, box made of tin

Bible burner

The Devil in a coil spitting venom

Donnal moral cloaks and virtues

Haunting the words of good

By issuing fear and crimson hues

Bodies below the floorboards

Vulvae beneath the beds

Your Jesus in his bedpan

And the lambs all are dead

Religion cannot rescue us

Prayer books could never save

Light candles in some effigies

Your Jesus in a grave

Bible Burner

Oh holy words at your denounment

Bring to me legend and lore

Come what may to this coil

I pervert all you stand for

Unholy words, in your victory

Teach to me thy spells of hex

Come what may be it plague or death

I will go into Hell’s vortex

Bible Burner