I am a bold and a pagan soul a ramblin' through this land.
I judge the world by my own lights and I come by my own hand.
And if you ask 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 from 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"
Of those who preach that holiness is to do what you are told.
Though law and scripture, priest and prayer, have all instructed me,
My skin, my bones, my heretic heart, are my authority.

Now 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 would command me must wear the horn and let me be.
My skin, my bones, my heretic heart, are my authority.

And 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 it loud, I'll sing it secretly.
My skin, my bones, my heretic heart, are my authority.

Catherine Madsen