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Maybe every year veiling in the coat,

St. Master of the church,

Sinkink like a witnes on the chair

of the strange murder.

Inside the mind of people, the master of inquisition

Has his position, they give even their life for his blis

But let him go on to rule.

He will change the love of people in pain

The laugh is resounding from the darkness

This monstrosity tends towards the hell

To the executioner with him.

Stake is burning and a thick fog

Is crossed by screaming and crying

Of innocent girls at wooden stake

Must be sacrified.

The fire became their arms and now

They have their sacrifice

They are burning witches, maybe

The paradise will be waiting for them.

The inquisitioner rabs his hands

The execution was successfull

The spite is living only in his heart .