John Smith England Rolls Away
I woke up in an alleyway
In Liverpool the ship of fools was sinking
As I rose up from the depths
I stumbled down the road a ways
Found London in a haze of weary violence
It is hard to get my rest
In looking for the best of her
Well I have seen the worst she's had to offer
But there's nothing I'll not keep
England
Blood on the thorn of an English rose
I gather belongings, travelling clothes
Now slowly drifting out of London
It could be a year
It could be ten
Until she begs me back again
And all my miles are measured in an inch
Every fear that's taken over
This wide-eyed waking, rambling rover
Has grown within the heart that is my home
England!
In-ger-land!
England rolls away.