Seven silent crows are sitting On the branch of a dead tree, As below the witch is screaming At the stake in agony, And the people are rejoicing, They all laugh and clap their hands, As they watch the devil’s servant Turning into firebrands
And the fire’s growing higher, While the wind is moaning low, Soon the driving rain will douse the flame, And unashamed they’ll all walk away, But for seven silent crows
Eight silent crows are glowering From the branch of the dead tree...