A Coming Storm

A wind blows over the lavender fields

Carrying the scent of death and decay

The holy war consumes and burns

Everything and everyone in its 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 Montségur 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.

Spewing from their eyes!