Thursday 14 August 2008 photo 1/1
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Seven brides serve me seven sins Seven seas writhe for me
From Orient gates to R’lyeh Abydos to Thessaly
And Sirens sing from stern But now I cease to play
For I yearn to return To woodland ferns Where Herne and his wild huntress lay
Now the tidal are turning Spurning the darkness The great purgations of distinguished tours
Are but stills in time To the thrill that I’m Once more Heading to the bedding Of
her English shores The wind bickered in Satanic mill sails Eyes flickered in deep
thickets of trees And mists clung tight in panic to vales When Brigantia spoke her
soul to me From Imbolg to Bealtaine Lughnasadh to Samhain feasts I heard her
lament as season’s blent Together a chimerical beast Now the tidal are turning
Churning in darkness The celebrations of extinguished wars Are but stills in time To
the chill that climbs Once more Dreading the red weddings On her English shores
Gone are the rustic summers of my youth Cruel winters cut their sacred throats
With polished scythes that reap worldwide Pitch black skies and forest smoke And
the hosts that I saw there Drones of carrion law Drove the ghosts of my forbears
To rove and rally once more One of her sons from the vast far-flung Come home to
rebuild The rampant line of the Leonine Risen over pestilent fields Now the tidal are
turning Burning in darkness The salvation of her hungry sword Shalt spill like wine
From the hills to chines That pour Spreading her beheadings On these English
shores For the hosts that I saw there Drones of carrion law Drove the ghosts of my
forbears To rove and rally once more This is a waking for England From it’s reticent
doze This is a waking for England Lest hope and glory are regarded as foes
From Orient gates to R’lyeh Abydos to Thessaly
And Sirens sing from stern But now I cease to play
For I yearn to return To woodland ferns Where Herne and his wild huntress lay
Now the tidal are turning Spurning the darkness The great purgations of distinguished tours
Are but stills in time To the thrill that I’m Once more Heading to the bedding Of
her English shores The wind bickered in Satanic mill sails Eyes flickered in deep
thickets of trees And mists clung tight in panic to vales When Brigantia spoke her
soul to me From Imbolg to Bealtaine Lughnasadh to Samhain feasts I heard her
lament as season’s blent Together a chimerical beast Now the tidal are turning
Churning in darkness The celebrations of extinguished wars Are but stills in time To
the chill that climbs Once more Dreading the red weddings On her English shores
Gone are the rustic summers of my youth Cruel winters cut their sacred throats
With polished scythes that reap worldwide Pitch black skies and forest smoke And
the hosts that I saw there Drones of carrion law Drove the ghosts of my forbears
To rove and rally once more One of her sons from the vast far-flung Come home to
rebuild The rampant line of the Leonine Risen over pestilent fields Now the tidal are
turning Burning in darkness The salvation of her hungry sword Shalt spill like wine
From the hills to chines That pour Spreading her beheadings On these English
shores For the hosts that I saw there Drones of carrion law Drove the ghosts of my
forbears To rove and rally once more This is a waking for England From it’s reticent
doze This is a waking for England Lest hope and glory are regarded as foes