The Ghost Of Heritage

Sacred water flows
Through the veins of our sacred land
Drink of this and take thy fill
For the water falls by the wizards will.

Old man of the forest
Cloaked in the lore of the land
Loyal guardian
Of our fog smothered isle.

Among the contorted roots
Of English Oaks
In the caverns of the northern kingdom
Dwells the sleeping army
Here they lie
In enchanted sleep
Awaiting the day
When England is in peril.

Old man of the forest
Cloaked in the lore of the land
Loyal guardian
The ghost of heritage.

Among the contorted roots
Of English Oaks
In the caverns of the northern kingdom
Dwells the sleeping army
Here they lie
In enchanted sleep
Awaiting the day
When England is in peril.

Thence shall they descend
Into the plain
To decide the fate
Of a great battle
And save our homeland
From the thieving hands
Of the infidel.