The Witch of MolRei by Empress Carnelian Lyrics
[Part I: The Trial]
The wind caressed the whiskers of the trees,
Confessing — with a whisper scarcely veiled —
Affection and entrapment in the state of wand’ring free;
The rustling chains of nature’s harmonies.
Beyond the leaves and through the forest barren,
For miles and miles are souls that roar in terror;
Yet if the path is triumphed — Heed! — There’s nothing but sierra;
Which covered beauty — once upon an era.
But then, like now, a clam’rous clash of chains
Upset the silence one too many ways
When people gathered round to see the witch exhaust in flames;
The twisted, sick’ning witch of Mol’Rei.
The people chanted, screamed so full of rage.
The witch was there upon the wooden stage
With eyes as black as midnight and her claws like razorblades;
Accompanied by guards with plated mail.
They sauntered as the crowd with anger slurred.
Surprisingly she had not said a word.
Up close her eyes looked tired, and her face was quite absurd;
Much like in shock, and ‘bout to light the world.
Upon the stage, a small but fitted chair;
One that had just been carefully prepared.
Then as she sat her bottom down, oh, she was too aware;
The time had come for one concluding prayer.
They locked her arms and legs as people stared.
She closed her eyes, but not for feeling scared;
Yet as the sponge was placed upon the missing spot of hair,
She knew for sure her soul would not be spared.
The execut’ner, facing group of ire,
Then raised his palm and signaled to be quiet;
And as the silence settled he began his speech of pride,
“Behold, for in this night a witch shall die.”
As people cheered, he turned to face the witch,
“Say, have you any final phrase, then which?”;
But not a word she uttered as he reached out for the switch,
And suddenly he felt a crawling itch.
“Just kill the sorc’rer!”, echoed from the crowd.
“And make her suffer!”, everyone was loud.
He turned his face towards the horde and pulled the lever down;
A light burst out, and up to meet the clouds.
The witch began to glow intensely bright;
The stage ignited from the flaring light;
Apparel melted, people’s eyes were damaged from the sight.
Distress had brightened up the somber night.
As power lines exploded ev’rywhere,
And poles were falling all over the square,
Explosions and commotion sharply pierced the silv’ry air;
That, and mortals crying in despair.
Ferocious flames were feasting all around
For screams of agony; a horrid sound.
Bewildered fell the nation as a pressure broke the ground,
And lost inside a sea of smoke — they drowned.
Revenge from sorc’rer fried for witchery,
Or merely accident; a mystery.
The legend says a laughter kissed the whiskers of the trees,
Though, all we know for sure’s that calmness ceased.
[Part II: Carnelian Red]
The emptiness came swallowing the heat.
A void remained of once a village green.
Now not even remembrance could restore that hollow scene
Of tarnished souls, and lifeless harmonies.
For many days the silence sat unbroken,
Just brooding, hatching murderous emotions.
When thinking that the battlefield had turned into composure,
Then suddenly, a word of joy was spoken.
“Advance!”, a voice of careless wonder shouted.
“T’was just a ghost”, thought Silence, so astounded,
“'Cause life does not exist here”, though the echo made it doubt it,
And suddenly near twenty men surrounded.
The men were walking with an easy pace;
Much weary after many ceaseless days.
The sky was black, the sun obscured by thick and murky haze.
They stopped, for it was time to search the waste.
They all then squatted down and dug instead,
But very soon they all gave up in dread;
They found a tooth, a skull, and ashes on the field of dead,
Along with glowing bones, carnelian red.
So beautiful, the bones of pain and wrath;
“Now this must be the witch’s”, claimed a man.
Then without hesitation, with the firmest grip, he grasped;
And mumbled nonsense as he hit the sand.
A panic spread like plague among the pack.
The man was shaking fast with horrid cramps,
And with a closer look, they saw corrosion dress his hands;
His skin began to drip like candle wax.
Another man inhaled his widest breath;
He yelled “We need to help him!”, like a threat.
They gathered round to keep the fellow sheltered from the death,
As something came out from the forest’s depth.
Infernal, like the necromancer’s mind,
And merely darkness; not reflecting light.
The creatures in erratic shapes, now on the gravel dry,
Were marching forwards like a handful knights.
By blessings from the Otherworldly Three,
Or pure coincidence — determine thee —
A junker turned around as if advised by the unreal,
And spotted the approaching evil beasts.
Deserted was his puzzled state of mind,
And frozen, like his blood had changed to ice.
With every bit of power pressing air throughout his pipe,
He wheezed, and gasped, and then; a cloudy “Fly”.
The message faded promptly to succumb.
His heart was beating like a doomsday drum.
He kept on panting louder as the air caressed his lungs,
When stars appeared and turned his senses numb.
Another man who’d heard the both’ring noise
Now glanced around at all the other boys
Before he spoke with somewhat of a rough, offended voice;
“Do y’all too hear this ringing that annoys?”
In just a second, heads had turned to see
The coming of the myriad murky fiends;
And like a perfect orchestra performs their masterpiece,
In harmony they all began to scream.
[Part III: Mimicry]
Just like a broken record — one could say —
The last twelve stanzas ran like on replay.
The men all made it out of there and lived to tell the tale;
As other men decided — they’d prevail.
Though every time went like the time before;
They’d try, and fail, yet always ride back more
With bigger weapons, horses, men and women, rich and poor;
To taste the sweet, and deadly, kiss of war.
Each battle closer than the fight before;
With every fight a dozen lives were o’er,
And yet another village emptied by the gloomy storm;
The world of men was shaken to the core.
The population rapidly declined.
The last two stanzas echoed in denial;
For what was wrong with fighting darkness, demons, beasts of ire?
Barbaric beasts — with wings that reeked of riot.
Yet some denied the actuality
While others barricaded families
Or even fled their homes in hopes of leaving the surreal;
The certainty of mental states revealed.
Some people waited for the raiding threats
Inside their towns, with guns and bayonets;
But, like the nation, ruptured the larynges in their necks,
As darkness came with flying silhouettes.
A silhouette of fear among the night.
Another one of passion; none of pride.
Unnervingly familiar, a mirror in disguise;
A mimicry of sorrow and desire.
The wind caressed the whiskers of the trees,
Confessing — with a whisper scarcely veiled —
Affection and entrapment in the state of wand’ring free;
The rustling chains of nature’s harmonies.
Beyond the leaves and through the forest barren,
For miles and miles are souls that roar in terror;
Yet if the path is triumphed — Heed! — There’s nothing but sierra;
Which covered beauty — once upon an era.
But then, like now, a clam’rous clash of chains
Upset the silence one too many ways
When people gathered round to see the witch exhaust in flames;
The twisted, sick’ning witch of Mol’Rei.
The people chanted, screamed so full of rage.
The witch was there upon the wooden stage
With eyes as black as midnight and her claws like razorblades;
Accompanied by guards with plated mail.
They sauntered as the crowd with anger slurred.
Surprisingly she had not said a word.
Up close her eyes looked tired, and her face was quite absurd;
Much like in shock, and ‘bout to light the world.
Upon the stage, a small but fitted chair;
One that had just been carefully prepared.
Then as she sat her bottom down, oh, she was too aware;
The time had come for one concluding prayer.
They locked her arms and legs as people stared.
She closed her eyes, but not for feeling scared;
Yet as the sponge was placed upon the missing spot of hair,
She knew for sure her soul would not be spared.
The execut’ner, facing group of ire,
Then raised his palm and signaled to be quiet;
And as the silence settled he began his speech of pride,
“Behold, for in this night a witch shall die.”
As people cheered, he turned to face the witch,
“Say, have you any final phrase, then which?”;
But not a word she uttered as he reached out for the switch,
And suddenly he felt a crawling itch.
“Just kill the sorc’rer!”, echoed from the crowd.
“And make her suffer!”, everyone was loud.
He turned his face towards the horde and pulled the lever down;
A light burst out, and up to meet the clouds.
The witch began to glow intensely bright;
The stage ignited from the flaring light;
Apparel melted, people’s eyes were damaged from the sight.
Distress had brightened up the somber night.
As power lines exploded ev’rywhere,
And poles were falling all over the square,
Explosions and commotion sharply pierced the silv’ry air;
That, and mortals crying in despair.
Ferocious flames were feasting all around
For screams of agony; a horrid sound.
Bewildered fell the nation as a pressure broke the ground,
And lost inside a sea of smoke — they drowned.
Revenge from sorc’rer fried for witchery,
Or merely accident; a mystery.
The legend says a laughter kissed the whiskers of the trees,
Though, all we know for sure’s that calmness ceased.
[Part II: Carnelian Red]
The emptiness came swallowing the heat.
A void remained of once a village green.
Now not even remembrance could restore that hollow scene
Of tarnished souls, and lifeless harmonies.
For many days the silence sat unbroken,
Just brooding, hatching murderous emotions.
When thinking that the battlefield had turned into composure,
Then suddenly, a word of joy was spoken.
“Advance!”, a voice of careless wonder shouted.
“T’was just a ghost”, thought Silence, so astounded,
“'Cause life does not exist here”, though the echo made it doubt it,
And suddenly near twenty men surrounded.
The men were walking with an easy pace;
Much weary after many ceaseless days.
The sky was black, the sun obscured by thick and murky haze.
They stopped, for it was time to search the waste.
They all then squatted down and dug instead,
But very soon they all gave up in dread;
They found a tooth, a skull, and ashes on the field of dead,
Along with glowing bones, carnelian red.
So beautiful, the bones of pain and wrath;
“Now this must be the witch’s”, claimed a man.
Then without hesitation, with the firmest grip, he grasped;
And mumbled nonsense as he hit the sand.
A panic spread like plague among the pack.
The man was shaking fast with horrid cramps,
And with a closer look, they saw corrosion dress his hands;
His skin began to drip like candle wax.
Another man inhaled his widest breath;
He yelled “We need to help him!”, like a threat.
They gathered round to keep the fellow sheltered from the death,
As something came out from the forest’s depth.
Infernal, like the necromancer’s mind,
And merely darkness; not reflecting light.
The creatures in erratic shapes, now on the gravel dry,
Were marching forwards like a handful knights.
By blessings from the Otherworldly Three,
Or pure coincidence — determine thee —
A junker turned around as if advised by the unreal,
And spotted the approaching evil beasts.
Deserted was his puzzled state of mind,
And frozen, like his blood had changed to ice.
With every bit of power pressing air throughout his pipe,
He wheezed, and gasped, and then; a cloudy “Fly”.
The message faded promptly to succumb.
His heart was beating like a doomsday drum.
He kept on panting louder as the air caressed his lungs,
When stars appeared and turned his senses numb.
Another man who’d heard the both’ring noise
Now glanced around at all the other boys
Before he spoke with somewhat of a rough, offended voice;
“Do y’all too hear this ringing that annoys?”
In just a second, heads had turned to see
The coming of the myriad murky fiends;
And like a perfect orchestra performs their masterpiece,
In harmony they all began to scream.
[Part III: Mimicry]
Just like a broken record — one could say —
The last twelve stanzas ran like on replay.
The men all made it out of there and lived to tell the tale;
As other men decided — they’d prevail.
Though every time went like the time before;
They’d try, and fail, yet always ride back more
With bigger weapons, horses, men and women, rich and poor;
To taste the sweet, and deadly, kiss of war.
Each battle closer than the fight before;
With every fight a dozen lives were o’er,
And yet another village emptied by the gloomy storm;
The world of men was shaken to the core.
The population rapidly declined.
The last two stanzas echoed in denial;
For what was wrong with fighting darkness, demons, beasts of ire?
Barbaric beasts — with wings that reeked of riot.
Yet some denied the actuality
While others barricaded families
Or even fled their homes in hopes of leaving the surreal;
The certainty of mental states revealed.
Some people waited for the raiding threats
Inside their towns, with guns and bayonets;
But, like the nation, ruptured the larynges in their necks,
As darkness came with flying silhouettes.
A silhouette of fear among the night.
Another one of passion; none of pride.
Unnervingly familiar, a mirror in disguise;
A mimicry of sorrow and desire.