The Anvil

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