England Rolls Away (Smith John)

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 Bridge 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.