The Anvil

Forefather

England's on the anvil - hear the hammers ring 
Clanging from the Severn to the Tyne 
Never was a blacksmith like our Norman King 
England's being hammered into line 

England's on the anvil - heavy are the blows 
Ordered by the tyrant bastard son 
Destiny has cursed us with the maker of our woes 
England's being hammered into one 

Sorrow for the conquered, wretched is their doom 
Marshalled from the mountains to the shore 
Withered in the shadow of the ruthless victor horde 
Toiling in the silent throes of war 

England’s in the furnace, tempered by the flames 
Cast into a spiral of decline 
Grievous is the pounding in this iron-fisted forge 
England’s being fashioned by design 

'With bloody sword came he 
Cold heart and bloody hand 
Now rule the English land' 
- Heimskringla 

England's on the anvil - hear those hammers ring 
Clanging from the Severn to the Tyne 
Never was a blacksmith like our Norman King 
England's being hammered, hammered into line 

Glowing on the anvil, faithful sons awake 
Banish this usurper from the throne 
Furl his sacred standard tight fixed with dragon seal 
And send it with our blessings back to Rome