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Cradle Of Filth
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English fire
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Fix lyrics English fire by Cradle Of Filth
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Current song lyrics
Seven brides serve me seven sins<br>Seven seas writhe for me<br>From Orient gates to R?lyeh<br>Abydos to Thessaly<br>And Sirens sing from stern<br>But now I cease to play<br>For I yearn to return<br>To woodland ferns<br>Where Herne and his wild huntress lay<br><br>Now the tidal are turning<br>Spurning the darkness<br>The great purgations of distinguished tours<br>Are but stills in time<br>To the thrill that I?m<br>Once more<br>Heading to the bedding<br>Of her English shores<br><br>The wind bickered in Satanic mill sails<br>Eyes flickered in deep thickets of trees<br>And mists clung tight in panic to vales<br>When Brigantia spoke her soul to me<br><br>From Imbolg to Bealtaine<br>Lughnasadh to Samhain feasts<br>I heard her lament as season?s blent<br>Together a chimerical beast<br><br>Now the tidal are turning<br>Churning in darkness<br>The celebrations of extinguished wars<br>Are but stills in time<br>To the chill that climbs<br>Once more<br>Dreading the red weddings<br>On her English shores<br><br>Gone are the rustic summers of my youth<br>Cruel winters cut their sacred throats<br>With polished scythes that reap worldwide<br>Pitch black skies and forest smoke<br><br>And the hosts that I saw there<br>Drones of carrion law<br>Drove the ghosts of my forbears<br>To rove and rally once more<br><br>One of her sons from the vast far-flung<br>Come home to rebuild<br>The rampant line of the Leonine<br>Risen over pestilent fields<br><br>Now the tidal are turning<br>Burning in darkness<br>The salvation of her hungry sword<br>Shalt spill like wine<br>From the hills to chines<br>That pour<br>Spreading her beheadings<br>On these English shores<br><br>For the hosts that I saw there<br>Drones of carrion law<br>Drove the ghosts of my forbears<br>To rove and rally once more<br><br>This is a waking for England<br>From it?s reticent doze<br>This is a waking for England<br>Lest hope and glory are regarded as foes
New song lyrics
Seven brides serve me seven sins<br>Seven seas writhe for me<br>From Orient gates to R?lyeh<br>Abydos to Thessaly<br>And Sirens sing from stern<br>But now I cease to play<br>For I yearn to return<br>To woodland ferns<br>Where Herne and his wild huntress lay<br><br>Now the tidal are turning<br>Spurning the darkness<br>The great purgations of distinguished tours<br>Are but stills in time<br>To the thrill that I?m<br>Once more<br>Heading to the bedding<br>Of her English shores<br><br>The wind bickered in Satanic mill sails<br>Eyes flickered in deep thickets of trees<br>And mists clung tight in panic to vales<br>When Brigantia spoke her soul to me<br><br>From Imbolg to Bealtaine<br>Lughnasadh to Samhain feasts<br>I heard her lament as season?s blent<br>Together a chimerical beast<br><br>Now the tidal are turning<br>Churning in darkness<br>The celebrations of extinguished wars<br>Are but stills in time<br>To the chill that climbs<br>Once more<br>Dreading the red weddings<br>On her English shores<br><br>Gone are the rustic summers of my youth<br>Cruel winters cut their sacred throats<br>With polished scythes that reap worldwide<br>Pitch black skies and forest smoke<br><br>And the hosts that I saw there<br>Drones of carrion law<br>Drove the ghosts of my forbears<br>To rove and rally once more<br><br>One of her sons from the vast far-flung<br>Come home to rebuild<br>The rampant line of the Leonine<br>Risen over pestilent fields<br><br>Now the tidal are turning<br>Burning in darkness<br>The salvation of her hungry sword<br>Shalt spill like wine<br>From the hills to chines<br>That pour<br>Spreading her beheadings<br>On these English shores<br><br>For the hosts that I saw there<br>Drones of carrion law<br>Drove the ghosts of my forbears<br>To rove and rally once more<br><br>This is a waking for England<br>From it?s reticent doze<br>This is a waking for England<br>Lest hope and glory are regarded as foes
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