Crown of Thorns Erasure

Fire of the sun
Flowers crumble into dust
The seed shall scatter and die
Light in her eyes
Pours black in their lives
We gather 'round a funeral pyre

And here we stand
In old England's land
Shattered glass on the ground
There are no words
To console this earth
To restore old England's pride

Never in a million or so years
Did we suffer so much bloodshed

Here comes the man
With the warm and gentle hands
Her name burnt into his brow
Scorn in her eyes
Her back to the cries
We spit upon the life that never was

And here we stand
In old England's land
The rose is choked by its thorn
She will cast salt for wound
Old England wears no crown