[Intro]
[Down-picked guitars enter without buildup, locked to rapid snare accents.]

[Verse 1]
I measure not the body first; I measure how you stand,
The angle of your lowered face, the tremor of your hand.
A steady voice is practised fraud, a broken voice is guile;
A woman who avoids my eyes conceals a devil’s smile.
A woman who returns my gaze displays forbidden pride;
The silent shield their master; those who plead must testify.
No answer leaves the circle once the questioning begins—
I do not seek uncertainty. I calculate your sins.

[Pre-Chorus]
Bring the pin and bring the page,
Bring the witness, bring the cage.
Every doubt that might acquit
Can be shaped until it fits.

[Chorus]
By the Witchfinder’s Measure, every answer weighs the same:
Silence proves allegiance, and denial proves the claim.
By the Witchfinder’s Measure, innocence is thin—
The trial starts with accusation and concludes where I begin.
By the Witchfinder’s Measure, fear must feed the flame;
A method needs a victim, and a ledger needs a name.

[Verse 2]
I ask which prayer she muttered when the churchyard rooster cried;
If words match church instruction, then a demon stands beside.
If words depart by half a phrase, corruption shapes her breath;
If memory fails beneath the strain, forgetfulness means death.
I search for scars from childbirth, work and sickness on the skin,
Then call the common wounds of life the private doors of sin.
The clerk may note discrepancies, the judge may seem severe—
But systems gain authority when written lines appear.

[Pre-Chorus]
Bring the cord and seal the gate,
Bring the clock and make her wait.
Hunger bends the strongest claim;
Sleepless mouths will furnish names.

[Chorus]
By the Witchfinder’s Measure, every answer weighs the same:
Silence proves allegiance, and denial proves the claim.
By the Witchfinder’s Measure, innocence is thin—
The trial starts with accusation and concludes where I begin.
By the Witchfinder’s Measure, fear must feed the flame;
A method needs a victim, and a ledger needs a name.

[Drum Break]
[Rapid snare and tom figures mimic the repeated rhythm of interrogation.]

[Bridge - Clerk and Witchfinder Duet]
Clerk: “What if what she says is true?”
Witchfinder: “Truth is what the courts construe.”
Clerk: “What if all the witnesses lie?”
Witchfinder: “God will judge them when they die.”
Clerk: “What if all the town is wrong?”
Witchfinder: “Then the court must still prove strong.”
Clerk: “Where does your suspicion end?”
Witchfinder: “Where useful names begin.”

[Breakdown]
Stand—guilty.
Kneel—guilty.
Pray—guilty.
Plead—guilty.
Speak—guilty.
Still—guilty.
Write the answer.
Turn the quill.

[Guitar Solo]
[Short, angular twin-guitar phrases trade over a relentless pedal tone.]

[Final Chorus]
By the Witchfinder’s Measure, every life can bear a claim;
Grief becomes allegiance, and resistance builds the frame.
By the Witchfinder’s Measure, reason cannot enter in;
The trial starts with accusation and is sealed before we begin.
By the Witchfinder’s Measure, power feeds the flame—
The clerk has learned the method, and his hand supplies the name.

[Outro]
[The band ends on three clipped descending chords.]
Measure the silence.
Measure the fear.
Measure the profit.
The verdict is near.
