Three ships with black sails, their wake cast blood-red by the sun
Turned to the West, every one disappeared
Confining the waters in lines drawn and quartered
Ruled by the Crown.
Two Jacobin princes played with clattering foils in the dusk
Avarice drawn from a spark into fire
And the time-honoured kingdom, divided, withered and died.
Light it brings glittering, kinder to some,
Bear witness of changes yet to come
We'll turn a blind eye to half stifled cry,
As the season of plenty's finally done.
The journeyman's daughter sat in rags with her hand to wheel
Her father stayed quietly inside weaving dreams
Reflecting on moments gone by him in so many years
Light it brings glittering, kinder to some,
Bear witness of changes yet to come
We'll turn a blind eye to half stifled cry,
As the season of plenty's finally done.