| Fire of the sun | |
| Flowers crumble into dust | |
| The seed shall scatter and die | |
| Light in her eyes | |
| Pours black on their lives | |
| We gather round a funeral pyre | |
| And here we stand | |
| In old england's land | |
| Shattered glass on the ground | |
| There are no words | |
| To console this earth | |
| To restore old england's pride | |
| Never in a million or so years | |
| Did we suffer so much bloodshed | |
| Here comes the man | |
| With the warm and gentle hands | |
| Her name burned into his brow | |
| Scorn in her eyes | |
| Her back to the cries | |
| We spit upon the life | |
| That never was | |
| And here we stand | |
| In old england's land | |
| The rose is choked by it's thorn | |
| She will cast salt for your wound | |
| Old england wears no crown | |
| Never in a million or so years | |
| Did we suffer so much bloodshed | |
| We didn't want to hurt you | |
| But it's not over yet | |
| No never in a million or so years | |
| Did we suffer so much bloodshed |
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