Interpret:

Cradle of Filth

Album:

Nymphetamine

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 


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 


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