I sing a song of history
a song of bloody memory
I sing of ships and spice and gold
that men may venture forth once more
like days of old with a familiar vigour

I sing a song of fable
a song of sword and stone
I sing of weaving myth from tales
that men might hear for truth this day
if nowhere else but in their soul

I sing a song of meaning
a song of dragons slain
I sing a song of prayers and cloth
that men abate their wroth and pain instead
in common ground, in blue and white and red

I sing a song of servitude
a song of civic duty
I sing of knights about a table round
that men may learn of gallant beauty
and their brotherhood be found

I sing a song for tomorrow
a song of hope and harvest
I sing of full bellies, of fertile tum and lands
then men may count within their hands
and know all the ways in which they’re blessed

I sing a song for Albion
and the Lady of the Land
I sing of a people’s dreams
the anthem that its men would chant anew
in sport or hearth, with an ale to hand or brew

I sing a song of a song