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Fire-leaping harvest time, festivals they had begun

corn rigs standing proud, nature in her fertile shroud

fire-leaping harvest time, there's no one to bring the corn

funeral pyre's flaming night, nature in her darkest shroud

see the saint in earth's purgation, fighting filth our devastation

saint and rats in a dance, everywhere bubonic stench

seven demons - filthy rats, seven sins - seven deaths

spastic saint can not save, rats in heaps upon her grave

cleric's pulpit empty now, no one's there to kneel or bow

plague is famine, death and war, faith can't save, heal or cure

bring out the dead the hearse is rolling, knights and peasants

all has fallen, pipers play a piece so sad, for a saint without god