A priest stands at the church door with a hammer in his hand
He strikes the nail and lights a spark to burn throughout the land
No more to follow pope or priest, men's own creeds they shall make
And a thousand take up holy writ and a thousand faiths create.
King Henry sits his island throne with lustful, leering eye
For love of Anne, the lady fair, his queen he'll set aside
The headman's axe for those who cling to faith and to tradition
The crown will take the church and land, burn nunnery and mission.
The Turk stands in the Roman East, his eye looks ever West
Let every Christian take up arms, by Mother Mary blessed
But lordlings small with grasping hand, do rip and tear, divide
Like soldiers 'neath the holy cross where Christ was crucified.
Now break the stained glass windows, friends, and tear the altars down
And spill the wine and sacred bread to trample on the ground
Tradition died a bloody death, tomorrow come what may
So raise a glass and celebrate on Reformation Day.
