English Fire
Cradle of Filth Lyrics

Seven brides serve me seven sins
Seven vices control and serve me

Seven seas writhe for me
Seven oceans are tumultuous for me

From Orient gates to R'lyeh
From eastern entranceways to a sunken city named R'lyeh

Abydos to Thessaly
From an ancient Egyptian city named Abydos to a region in Greece named Thessaly

And Sirens sing from stern
Sirens are singing from the back of the ship

But now I cease to play
But now I stop playing around

For I yearn to return
Because I long to go back

To woodland ferns
To the ferns in the forest

Where Herne and his wild huntress lay
Where Herne, a woodland deity, and his female hunting companion rest

Now the tides are turning
Now the tides are changing

Spurning the darkness
Rejecting the darkness

The great purgations of distinguished tours
The great cleansing of famous journeys

Are but stills in time
Are merely paused moments in time

To the thrill that I'm once more
Compared to the excitement I feel in returning once again

Heading to the bedding
Heading towards the bed

Of her English shores
Of the coasts of England

The wind bickered in Satanic mill sails
The wind quarreled in sails made by the devil

Eyes flickered in deep thickets of trees
Eyes glimmered in the depths of thick forests

And mists clung tight in panic to vales
And fog stuck tightly in fear to the valleys

When Brigantia spoke her soul to me
When Brigantia, a goddess of Great Britain, spoke to me

From Imbolg to Bealtaine
From the festival of Imbolg to the festival of Bealtaine

Lughnasadh to Samhain feasts
From the festival of Lughnasadh to the festival of Samhain

I heard her lament as season's blent
I heard her sorrowful song as the seasons blended together

Together a chimerical beast
Together, creating a fanciful creature

Now the tides are turning
Now the tides are shifting

Churning in darkness
Churning in the dark

The celebrations of extinguished wars
The commemorations of wars that have ended

Are but stills in time
Are simply frozen moments in time

To the chill that climbs
To the shiver that rises

Once more
Again

Dreading the red weddings
Dreading the deadly murders

On her English shores
On the coasts of England

Gone are the rustic summers of my youth
The simple summers of my childhood are gone

Cruel winter cut their sacred throats
The harsh winter took away their sacred essence

With polished scythes that reap worldwide
With sharpened sickles that harvest around the world

Pitch black skies and forest smoke
Completely dark skies and smoke from the forest

And the hosts that I saw there
And the armies that I saw

Drones of carrion law
Drones of a law that feeds on dead flesh

Drove the ghosts of my forbears
Forced the spirits of my ancestors

To rove and rally once more
To wander and gather again

One of her sons from the vast far-flung
One of her far-flung children

Come home to rebuild
Come back to rebuild

The rampant line of the Leonine
The powerful lineage of royalty

Risen over pestilent fields
Has risen over fields plagued with disease

Now the tides are turning
Now the tides are changing

Burning in darkness
Burning in the dark

The salvation of her hungry sword
The saving power of her sword, hungry for blood

Shalt spill like wine
Will spill like wine

From the hills to chines
From the hills to narrow valleys

That pour
That flow

Spreading her beheadings
Spreading the decapitations

On these English shores
On these coasts of England

This is a waking for England
This is a call for England to awaken

From it's reticent doze
From its quiet slumber

Lest hope and glory are regarded as foes
So that hope and glory are not considered enemies