English Fire Lyrics - Cradle Of Filth

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 

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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 

Photos 

Gone are the rustic summers of my youth 

Cruel winter 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