|
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 |