All grown over - if these old oaks could talk A skirmish mentioned by one lame scribe Who died in the arms of autumn Leaves must fall for new ones to grow A simple rule of natures know Knarled trunks and rotting fragrant bracken Nettles and forget-me-nots A reign too bright, too pure to blacken The echoes of birds and forest breaks The sound of the murmering brook It's a pretty site as the sun breaks through The leafy roof that drips with dew, The secret mew of fleeting boar But hark, the horses stir again, Unsettled, champing, bridled bit Steady boys, our work's not done, Dig down and seek the truth, Clear the seasons shit, find proof Lo, here is evidence of burning He was ambushed forty years since Degraded and hacked like timber And now there's just scorched earth You can whittle down to the chicken wood And never see one drop of blood You can hear the wind before it hits In the deeps of the forest But the traitors shall not hear us.