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The Priory

de Falconer

The mist carried tidings of fire and blood:
On northern waves the dragons ride
Heaven shall mourn what darkness will scorn
On the day when prayers die
The omens spoke of a rising beast
That sailed out from the eastern shores
Brethren will cry and angels will sigh
On the day of the fiendish force

Aaaah, the priory burned
Aaaah, aflame and ablaze

The heathen horde struck from the sea
Like a cut from a tempered blade
In black the day was hung by the foreign
Dragon's tongue
On the day of the sinister raid
A plundered parish by a pagan plague
Perished under the autumn clouds
Their embers went cold as fate did unfold
And wrapped them in a solacing shroud

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