Luyện nghe bài hát English Fire

Seven brides serve me seven
Seven writhe for me
From Orient gates to
to Thessaly

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

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

The bickered in Satanic mill sails
Eyes in deep thickets of trees
And mists clung tight in panic to
When Brigantia her soul to me

From to Bealtaine
Lughnasadh to Samhain
I heard her lament as seasons
Together a beast

Now the are turning 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 that reap
Pitch black skies and smoke

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

One of her sons from the far flung
home to rebuild
The rampant line of the
over pestilent fields

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

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

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