To him oh shame, they're children, piteous babes
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They slay their blood, they poured out in his name
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With wailing cries and tears and rue
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Called sadness need as pain they knew
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The land of old centuries past has a story to be told
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From a time known as the iron age to the present secrets they do hold
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Scotland, Denmark, Ireland and the British isle shores
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Home the history of Druid worship and the Celtic tales unfold
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Darkening themselves with grim understandings of mystic Celtic gods
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Blood thirsty for their ritualistic slaughter they commit human life
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To death they fall in wasted form to appease the earth and gods
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Burned and slashed and drained of blood they're given in vain with ease
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With grim grappling they reared this wind worm
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Rain racked ring of late
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Someone digging found a drift of white pebbles
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A bronze knife and children's fire charred bones
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Circular stones erected as a place of sacredness
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Arranged for their temple of dedicatory offerings
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Monumentarily built thousands of years before the Lord's birth
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These stones cradled little children to their incinerated death
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Beltain fires burned a blaze atop the hills
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Waiting for offerings they kill for the sake of the living
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The fear of sickness and famine compel to dance this ceremony
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The sun and the moon is for them death and life as they pass
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Their fateful tears through this wicked age
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Intervening the church witness the need for reform on their Godless pagan day
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Yeilding to these calendar high points but people yearn for these festive times
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They change the name of their holiday to assume Christian status
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Will they forsake ceremonies of old, do the religions of the seasons fade away?
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Now a day given much feeding as children dress
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For trick or treat but under false lying pretense
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Is the Autumn festival of Samhain
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Funny how we celebrate the innocent slain
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Through wars and age the practice seems to have passed away
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But traces of that dark culture still surface today
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Our culture plagued with fear and superstition as true evil
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Burns it's way through the age, will it's never ending
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Destructive touch find a place in your life?
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Our ancestry to these spirits
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Life was given so life could be sustained
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And forthright season by season, death by death
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Through that brief generation
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Of that departed age
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Brings us now to the present
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And much can be explained
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-----------------
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Stroll Thru A Wicked Age
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Betrayal |