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Sara Clancy |
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There are flowers growing upon the hill |
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Like they always have before. |
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Will you stay here with me, or go and kill |
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On a foreign lonely shore? |
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Put away your anger, your sword, your steed, |
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And away your hatred bear. |
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Will you leave the sun and its shining heat |
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For to seek the darkness there? |
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But you love your anger, your sword, your steed, |
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And all that's gone before. |
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Now the ways of peace are again betrayed. |
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Away, fine lad, once more. |
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On his horse he rode. |
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Distant truths are untold |
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'Til the cold steel through his heart |
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Did strike the mortal blow. |
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There are flowers growing upon the hill |
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Like they always have before, |
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And now you slumber and all is still, |
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And your sword will ne'er strike more, |
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And your sword will ne'er strike more. |
