At the year's turning. At each year's turning. The land is iced like Christmas cake The bare trees blossoming with snow. It burns the clouds to red and gold Like the old year's funeral pyre. This day's a gem from Faberge So highly prized because so rare.
Uniqueness is appropriate to A place so singular.
The bloody massacre performed By the King's men has not destroyed The peace abiding here. Now Cavalier and Roundhead lie With catholic, protestant, sinner, saint Reconciled in history. And Murphy's Law declared an amnesty. And now on dreary days of rain And charcoal sky and loneliness And winter darkness when no-one calls, The doldrum mood's dispelled because I still remember once and know That once could happen once again. Imprisoning his soul would not Let love enter with a healing hand.