I am a bold and a Pagan soul a-rattlin' through this land.
I judge the world by my own lights and [bad word] by my own hand;
And if you ask me where I learned to live so recklessly,
My skin, my bones, my heretic heart are my authority.

My mother was a spinner of tales, my father a dreaming man.
And I have swung on the Dragon's Tongue and danced on holy land.
I have sung the seed up out of the ground and the bird down from the tree;
My skin, my bones, my heretic heart are my authority.

Once I was found but now I'm gone away from the faithful fold
The ones who preach that holiness is to do as you are told.
Though law and scripture, priest and prayer have all [bad word] me,
My skin, my bones, my heretic heart are my authority.

They tell me Jesus loves me, but I think he loves in vain;
He must go unrequited, on me he has no claim.
For the man who [bad word] me must wear the horns and let me be
(Alt: My healer is the Lady Moon whose [bad word] deep in me)
My skin, my bones, my heretic heart are my authority.

So while I breathe this glorious air, an outlaw I'll remain;
My body will not be subdued and I will not be saved.
And if I cannot shout aloud, I'll sing it secretly,
My skin, my bones, my heretic heart are my authority!