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SPILT BLOOD
 
There is a cottage by the woods
Where roses grow of red,
It is a pleasant beautiful place
But it wasn't always so it is said.

One night when walking by
Some strange noises I did hear,
Sounded like people on horses
Might have been ghosts I fear.

They say that Oliver Cromwell
Used that cottage for to stay,
When he was travelling with his army
The kings men all dressed in grey.

They fought some mighty battles
Near these woods and round about,
And I often hear the clash of metal
And lots were killed no doubt.

I often hear the screams of children
Poor little mites never stood a chance,
They set fire to them and their homes
Because they tried to make a stance.

That Oliver Cromwell was supposed
To be religious but he was diverse,
His soldiers never showed no compassion
They struck everybody down with a curse.

And as I sits upon this hill neath the moon
The screams from history shakes my spine,
The terrible loss of life there must have been
They showed no mercy the gutless swine.

There must be a lot of bodies buried here
Near the little cottage of red roses,
It's all serene and peaceful you would never know
Unless like me you can hear the screams
Of the poor peasant people down below.



















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