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(notes From The Trial Of) La Curandera

Did you not grant quarter to the daemon

Giving treatment to its wounds?

And would you not consider it unnaturalTo be born outside the womb?

We eagerly await your response

And your best defenseLa Curandera is the young girl

In a linen dress of white

She dances on black sand in the night

In her linen dress of whiteLet us vote to dunk the witch in the river

Styx and photograph the lye

So in the shadow of Cerebus her spirit will resideLa Curandera is the young girl

In a linen dress of white

She dances on black sand in the night

In her linen dress of whiteBird in the fire, mouthful of sand

King of the Briar, mouthful of sand

The scale and feather, the lock and key

The Lord of weather, the beast at peace

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