I live and die
through England.
I live and die
through England.
It leaves sadness.
It leaves a taste,
a bitter one.
Remedies
never were,
remedies,
not within my reach.
I cannot go on as I am.
I cannot leave.
A withered vine,
a bitter one,
reaching from
the nations’ dirt.
England,
I have searched for your springs,
but people stagnate with time
like water or air.
Undaunted,
never-failing love for you,
England,
is all, to which I cling.