a royal line, He, no equal, but for them it mattered little for they were in love; Rose of England, sweet and fair, shining with the sun, Rose of England
Richard and that black piano Oh that sweet Georgia Peach and the boy from Tupelo Oh, I was made in England Oh, I was made in England I was made in England
new church will be there And we'll hear nothing but good Where the little old church in England stood Where the little old church in England stood
of England Far from our children and wives To play our hand in the Newfoundland Where the wind cuts like a knife We were far from the shores of England
they ever catch on fire, Which, with any luck, they might, We'll fight For the stately homes of England. The stately homes of England, Though rather
You prattle on to the point of a laugh Your Hieronymus Bosch - like soul Betrays who you really are Little Englander, Little Englander Little Englander, Little Englander Little Englander, Little Englander Little Englander, Little Englander
: England swings like a pendulum do, Bobbies on bicycles, two by two, Westminster Abbey the tower of Big Ben, The rosy red cheeks of the little children
: mount the high horse and dogs will follow the scent of innocence the wars of the roses sounding the charge down in history the hand that offers
I don't even think to make I don't even think to make I don't even think to make corrections Famous angels never come through England England gets
Death was everywhere In the air and in the sounds Coming off the mounds of Bolton's Ridge Ooh, death's anchorage When you rolled a smoke or told a joke
Louis was my dearest friend Fighting in the ANZAC trench Louis ran forth from the line I never saw him again Later in the dark I thought I heard Louis
Bitter branches spreading out There's none more bitter than the wood Into the wide world it grows Twisting under soldiers' feet Standing in line and
I live and die through England Through England It leaves a sadness Remedies never were within my reach I cannot go on as I am Withered vine reaching
Walker sees the mist rise Over no man's land He sees in front of him A smashed up waste ground There are no fields or trees No blades of grass Just unhurried
We got up early, washed our faces Walked the fields and put up crosses Passed through the damned mountains Went hellwards and some of us returned And
The west's asleep, let England shake Weighted down with silent dead I fear our blood won't rise again Won't rise again England's dancing days are done
Goddamn Europeans Take me back to beautiful England And the gray, damp filthiness Of ages and battered books And fog rolling down behind the mountains
is our glorious land bestowed? How is our glorious land bestowed? Oh America, oh England Oh America, oh England Oh America, oh England Oh America, oh England
