Frank Turner - Our lady of the campfire

Tonight is her ni^Bght, and the ci^Emty holds its b^Breath, ^EmCaught twixt life and d^Beath, as she ro^Emlls in from the subu^Brbs, The gar^Grison flees and the city will burn.

^C#Corinna rides like Boa^Bdicea to^Asus2night. ^C#London town tre^Bmbles at the si^Asus2ght.

Because tonight is her ni^Bght. And the yo^Emuth course through the st^Breets to l^Emay down at her ^Bfeet, And she r^Emuns a regal e^Bye to ch^Goose who lives and decide who dies.

^GShe keeps her co^Dunsel, smiles when she sp^Emeaks now, from ear to^G ear. ^GShe's getting m^Darried, or so they t^Emell me, when the spring is ^Bhere. ^GShe hums a tu^Bne from a song she knows fr^C#om warm summers p^Emast, ^GA song that was sung b^By kids around cam^C#pfires in the quiet s^Emouthwest.