[Intro]
[Picked bass counts five heavy beats while guitars answer in four.]

[Verse 1]
I was calfskin, cord and paper,
Cut and stitched before the spring.
I had neither guilt nor favour;
I was made to hold a thing.
Then the magistrate claimed my spine
And placed me in the clerk’s two hands.
Every frightened mouth filled lines;
Every line acquired lands.

[Verse 2]
I received the baker’s grievance,
I received the shepherd’s debt.
I made jealousy seem even,
I made rumour seem correct.
Wax was pressed upon my pages,
Red as meat beneath the knife.
Men who never entered cages
Entered me and governed life.

[Chorus]
I am the Witchfinder’s Ledger, bound in leather, tied in red.
I do not raise the gallows, but I number out the dead.
I am the Witchfinder’s Ledger; every column looks precise.
Fear becomes procedure when the page repeats it twice.
I am the Witchfinder’s Ledger, neither conscience, blood nor breath—
Yet hands that claim to serve the law can write a road to death.

[Verse 3]
Mara Voss was line eleven,
Elsbeth Venn was written first.
Peter Kroll stood marked at seven;
Silence counted as his curse.
Greta Hale inherited
A workshop someone wished to own.
Every life was edited
Till accusation stood alone.

[Pre-Chorus]
The ribbon does not tighten me;
It tightens those who write.
The seal does not establish truth;
It only closes sight.
A page cannot command a hand
To injure or acquit—
But once the hand records the lie,
The court can point to it.

[Chorus]
I am the Witchfinder’s Ledger, bound in leather, tied in red.
I do not raise the gallows, but I number out the dead.
I am the Witchfinder’s Ledger; every column looks precise.
Fear becomes procedure when the page repeats it twice.
I am the Witchfinder’s Ledger, neither conscience, blood nor breath—
Yet hands that claim to serve the law can write a road to death.

[Instrumental Break]
[Bass and drums repeat the five-beat pattern while twin guitars force it into four.]

[Bridge]
Clerk, you turn my pages late,
Counting entries, counting fate.
Do not blame my thread and hide;
You are standing at my side.
I contain what hands provide,
What the court has certified.
Paper never chose or lied—
Living men decide.

[Break]
One page for the widow.
One page for the maid.
One page for the healer
Whose neighbour never paid.
One page for the witness
Who questioned what was said.
One binding on the volume.
One town reduced to lines.

[Final Chorus]
I am the Witchfinder’s Ledger, and my leather spine is fed.
I cannot raise the gallows, but I carry every dead.
I am the Witchfinder’s Ledger; all my columns look precise.
Greed becomes procedure when the page repeats it twice.
I am the Witchfinder’s Ledger—clerk, the next page waits for you.
A book cannot repent the lie. A living hand still can choose.

[Outro]
[The shifting meter resolves into three slow descending notes.]
Close the cover.
Hide the truth.
Read me through.
The final empty page
Belongs to you.
