Erasure - Crown Of Thorns

Crown Of Thorns
Fire of the sun
Flowers crumble into dust
The seed shall scatter and die
Light in her eyes
Pours black on 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 burned 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 it's thorn
She will cast salt for your wound
Old England wears no crown

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