The honour has left the spire,
Of the nation that was proud to be,
The island of the golden empire,
From shore to wondrous sea.
There is no one left who knows it,
No on has that sweet taste,
For it has fallen into the pit,
And has cracked and crumpled into waste.
The glue of the world cannot fix,
And the tape cannot bind,
Together with history it does mix,
Making it impossible to find.
But they say there’s always hope,
Cos it’s there for everyone to read,
The old empire will cope,
But from its soldiers it will bleed.
With each drop of blood that’s sown,
Will fill the pit burning hot,
And in the end that’s all alone,
The reborn honour floats on top.