Luyện nghe bài hát English Fire

Seven brides serve me sins
Seven seas for me
From Orient gates to
Abydos to

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

Now the are turning, spurning the darkness
The great of distinguished tours
Are but stills in time to the that Im once more
Heading to the of her English shores

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

From to Bealtaine
to Samhain feasts
I heard her lament as seasons
a chimerical beast

Now the tidal are turning churning in
The celebrations of wars
Are but stills in time to the chill climbs once more
Dreading the red on her English shores

are the rustic summers of my youth
Cruel winters cut their throats
With polished scythes reap worldwide
Pitch skies and forest smoke

And the that I saw there
Drones of law
the ghosts of my forbears
To rove and rally once

One of her from the vast far flung
Come home to
The line of the Leonine
Risen pestilent fields

Now the tidal are turning in darkness
The salvation of her hungry
Shalt like wine from the hills to chines that pour
Spreading her beheadings on these English

For the hosts I saw there
Drones of law
the ghosts of my forbears
To rove and once more

is a waking for England
From its reticent
This is a waking for
Lest hope and are regarded as foes