Erasure

Fire of the sun
Flowers crumble into dust
The seed shall scatter and die
Light in her eyes
Pours black on their lives
We gather round a funeral pyre
And here we stand
In old englands land
Shattered glass on the ground
There are no words
To console this earth
To restore old englands pride
Never in a million or so years
Did we suffer so much bloodshed
Here comes the man
With the warm and gentle hands