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• Artiste: Pickering Pick
• Titre: Cromwell
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A shroud around his body wrapped Below the Earth and years and years and years Have passed along these lines below these fields Brought up to us, a body wrapped My hands that love him greatly Though history does not agree Were they his bones removed upon St. Steven's Day? The moon is hidden as the cloth appears And taken to the river Take him to the Earth A hundred years, two hundred years Three for the sins of his hands And bought unto these fields By a sword though no man could lay him down A fever for his troubles And his body to the Earth returned By the hands that loved him dearly While his works shall never work His thoughts shall never think His eyes shall never watch His loves shall know not love His loves shall know not love His loves shall know not love His loves shall know not love