Luyện nghe bài hát English Fire

Seven serve me seven sins
seas writhe for me
From Orient gates to
to Thessaly

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

Now the tidal are turning, the darkness
The great purgations of distinguished
Are but stills in time to the thrill that Im once
Heading to the bedding of her shores

The wind bickered in mill sails
Eyes flickered in thickets of trees
And mists clung in panic to vales
When Brigantia her soul to me

From Imbolg to
to Samhain feasts
I heard her lament as blent
a chimerical beast

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

are the rustic summers of my youth
Cruel cut their sacred throats
With scythes that reap worldwide
Pitch black skies and forest

And the hosts I saw there
of carrion law
Drove the ghosts of my
To rove and rally once

One of her sons from the vast far
Come to rebuild
The rampant line of the
Risen pestilent fields

Now the tidal are turning burning in
The salvation of her sword
Shalt spill like from the hills to chines that pour
her beheadings on these English shores

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

is a waking for England
From its doze
This is a for England
Lest hope and glory are as foes