Fire of the sunFlowers crumble into dustThe seed shall scatter and dieLight in her eyesPours black on their livesWe gather round a funeral pyreAnd here we standIn old England's landShattered glass on the groundThere are no wordsTo console this earthTo restore old England's prideNever in a million or so yearsDid we suffer so much bloodshedHere comes the manWith the warm and gentle handsHer name burned into his browScorn in her eyesHer back to the criesWe spit upon the lifeThat never wasAnd here we standIn old England's landThe rose is choked by its thornShe will cast salt for your woundOld England wears no crownNever in a million or so yearsDid we suffer so much bloodshedNever in a million or so yearsWe didn't want to hurt youBut it's not over yetNo never in a million or so yearsDid we suffer so much bloodshed