[Verse 1] Land the grows the finest wine, ancient southern sunshine Gift to the first king's bastard brother, fertile land so fine Who would not hold on so tightly onto prosperity's sign? [Verse 2] Talentless successors and suitors, one after one The coin n' black soil trickles away, leaking by the ton 'Till none remains but one vase's worth of black grog [Chorus] Speckles of black soil trickle like sand in the hourglass Just seven plum trees, you fallen Londberts, where is your class?! Relics of the past, all of you are, keep sailing down crevasse of time One pot of flower land crashes down, poverty awaits you down the line! [Verse 3] Land that grows finest wine, ancient southern sunshine Down by the river, merchants sailing down her spine Who would not hold on so tightly onto ancestral beehives? [Verse 4[ Land of flowing honey and milk torn asunder, Gambled away over a thousand years to trespassers, Fallen from grace, oh how the mighty have became the deflater! [Chorus] Speckles of black soil trickle like sand in the hourglass Just seven plum trees, you fallen Londberts, where is your class?! Relics of the past, all of you are, keep sailing down crevasse of time One pot of flower land crashes down, poverty awaits you down the line! [Verse 5] Land the grows the finest wine, ancient southern sunshine Yet all that remains is the smallest frontline Seven plum trees, such is your demise! [Verse 6] Marriage and inheritance, how could your luck have gone so wild? From Grand County to less than Counts, what shame to be alive! Now counts in name only, such an embarrassing strife! [Chorus] Speckles of black soil trickle like sand in the hourglass Just seven plum trees, you fallen Londberts, where is your class?! Relics of the past, all of you are, keep sailing down crevasse of time One pot of flower land crashes down, poverty awaits you down the line! [Chorus, higher pitch] Speckles of black soil trickle like sand in the hourglass Just seven plum trees, you fallen Londberts, where is your class?! Relics of the past, all of you are, keep sailing down crevasse of time One pot of flower land crashes down, poverty awaits you down the line! [Outro, slower] Speckles of black soil trickle like sand in the hourglass Just seven plum trees, you fallen Londberts, where is your class?! Relics of the past, all of you are, keep sailing down crevasse of time One pot of flower land crashes down, poverty awaits you down the line!