Luyện nghe bài hát English Fire

Seven serve me seven sins
Seven writhe for me
Orient gates to Rlyeh
Abydos to

And Sirens sing stern
But now I cease to
For I yearn to to woodland ferns
Herne and his wild huntress lay

Now the tidal are turning, spurning the
The great purgations of tours
Are but stills in to the thrill that Im once more
Heading to the bedding of her English

The bickered in Satanic mill sails
Eyes flickered in deep of trees
And mists clung tight in to vales
When spoke her soul to me

From to Bealtaine
Lughnasadh to feasts
I heard her as seasons blent
Together a chimerical

Now the tidal are churning in darkness
The celebrations of wars
Are but stills in time to the chill that climbs once
Dreading the red weddings on her shores

Gone are the rustic of my youth
Cruel winters cut sacred throats
With polished scythes reap worldwide
Pitch black skies and forest

And the that I saw there
of carrion law
Drove the of my forbears
To and rally once more

One of her sons from the vast far
Come home to
The rampant of the Leonine
Risen pestilent fields

Now the are turning burning in darkness
The salvation of her sword
Shalt like wine from the hills to chines that pour
Spreading her on these English shores

For the hosts I saw there
of carrion law
Drove the of my forbears
To rove and once more

This is a for England
its reticent doze
This is a waking for
Lest hope and glory are regarded as