A wind blows over the lavender fields Carrying the scent of death and decay The holy war consumes and burns Everything and everyone in it's way
Carcasonne has fallen To whom do we turn in these times forlorn? High in the mountains we will find Refuge from the coming storm
Shining swords and burning crosses Rising up into the skies Blinding rage and hate prevailing Growing, spewing from their eyes.
You can run but you can't hide My power is too great I know that God is on my side Your penance is too late
I shall weed out there heretics one by one They'll be purged in fire in front of everyone I shall make examples out of these hypocrites I'll send them down to hell's fiery pits
We must flee to our stronghold high and dry We'll be safe in Montsgur and Cabaret There's no shame in running For he who fights and runs lives to fight another day
"And so it came to pass, The remaining heretics sought shelter in the high Black Mountains, far from Simon de Montfort's merciless persecution. Those who were captured were tortured, burned at the stake or buried alive, all in the name of God. And even there they weren't safe, for after seven weeks of siege, settlements such as Minerve and Lavaur were overrun by the holy army... and razed to the ground" Weeks and weeks of combat and assault Minerve stood high and dry But in the end thirst and famine brought them to their knees They would stand with their attackers eye to eye
They were given a choice: to renounce their faith Or to perish in inferno at the stake With heads held high, they would rather die Their beliefs they would never forsake
On the day of Mary Magdalene One hundred and forty were lead below At the bottom of the gorge waited a forge Where death was ready to sow
The parfaits were piled one by one Onto a seething tower of flame Embers flew high into the sky And the crusaders, they felt no shame
"Neither death nor life can tear us from the faith to which we are joined"
A plague spread through the land Fueled by the brotherhood in white He ruled with iron fisted hand Wielding his god-gifted might
Shining swords and burning crosses Rising up into the skies Blinding rage and hate prevailing Growing, spewing from their eyes.
"For nine whole years Simon de Montfort tortured, mutilated, murdered and burned his way across the Languedoc. But the parfaits stayed true to their beliefs."
Shining swords and burning crosses Rising up into the skies Blinding rage and hate prevailing Growing, spewing from their eyes.
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Copy to Clipboard: A wind blows over the lavender fields Carrying the scent of death and decay The holy war consumes and burns Everything and everyone in it's way
Carcasonne has fallen To whom do we turn in these times forlorn? High in the mountains we will find Refuge from the coming storm
Shining swords and burning crosses Rising up into the skies Blinding rage and hate prevailing Growing, spewing from their eyes.
You can run but you can't hide My power is too great I know that God is on my side Your penance is too late
I shall weed out there heretics one by one They'll be purged in fire in front of everyone I shall make examples out of these hypocrites I'll send them down to hell's fiery pits
We must flee to our stronghold high and dry We'll be safe in Montsgur and Cabaret There's no shame in running For he who fights and runs lives to fight another day
"And so it came to pass, The remaining heretics sought shelter in the high Black Mountains, far from Simon de Montfort's merciless persecution. Those who were captured were tortured, burned at the stake or buried alive, all in the name of God. And even there they weren't safe, for after seven weeks of siege, settlements such as Minerve and Lavaur were overrun by the holy army... and razed to the ground" Weeks and weeks of combat and assault Minerve stood high and dry But in the end thirst and famine brought them to their knees They would stand with their attackers eye to eye
They were given a choice: to renounce their faith Or to perish in inferno at the stake With heads held high, they would rather die Their beliefs they would never forsake
On the day of Mary Magdalene One hundred and forty were lead below At the bottom of the gorge waited a forge Where death was ready to sow
The parfaits were piled one by one Onto a seething tower of flame Embers flew high into the sky And the crusaders, they felt no shame
"Neither death nor life can tear us from the faith to which we are joined"
A plague spread through the land Fueled by the brotherhood in white He ruled with iron fisted hand Wielding his god-gifted might
Shining swords and burning crosses Rising up into the skies Blinding rage and hate prevailing Growing, spewing from their eyes.
"For nine whole years Simon de Montfort tortured, mutilated, murdered and burned his way across the Languedoc. But the parfaits stayed true to their beliefs."
Shining swords and burning crosses Rising up into the skies Blinding rage and hate prevailing Growing, spewing from their eyes.
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