by Peter Loaf
High in the steeple, far overhead
The call to vespers, the prayers said
Deep in the dungeon, prisoner led
Dragged out for questions, her stony bed
Arms and legs binding, too tired to fight
Hanging rope tethered, to spend the night
Shivering naked, her helpless plight
A bullwhip snapping, the cracker’s bite
Screaming her panic, dancing away
The bell rope jerking, she cannot stay
High in the steeple, carillon play
Her plight transmitted, the call to pray
Power of power, means to an end
The young witch accused, his will to bend
Each toll from tower, a message send
Do as you’re ordered, and don’t offend
The goons departing, confessing crime
His cassock lifting, dripping his slime
The ropes restrain her, reason no rhyme
Her hips are lifted, the ringing chime
Suspended body, the tolling bell
His cock within her, plumbing her well
Slipping and sliding, her nipples swell
Driving her devil, the bell to tell
The people gather, muttering dark
The church corrupted, it’s evil stark
The tolling belfry, the tyrant’s bark
Soldiers assemble, teeth of the shark
The bell continues, as does the rape
The secret passage, meant for escape
Her lover slipping, inside the gate
The priest unknowing, a rutting ape
Revolt succeeding, priest beheaded
The next one careful, level headed
The witch gets married, lover wedded
Nightmares and needing, roughhouse bedded
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