Ashes in lashes,
Dust becomes rust

Enter this Temple,
in You I trust

Three stones at the altar
Five moors to the creek
Seven days for hunting
Nine chains that peak

Ironclad crosses
the blood that seeps,
red through this armour,
wounds what weeps

Sweep, bright bunting,
sweep, now sweep. . .

The Clouds cry, a-wanting
the belfries be steep.

Bring lilies to my chamber,
rest roses at my feet.
Milk for the thistle,
blue moon for the heath.

Sweet are the meadows,
Don Ironclad sheath
Chained to Her crown,
The Dag Dei will breathe

But I hold the Sun
when You call out my name
I feel Your kisses
in the warm spring rain

Enter this Temple,
enter it full,
From the grove, the forest --
my Lord, my Rule