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Beneath the sun, a peasant heart |
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A land where bitter armies marched |
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But here even serpents have their day |
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Crosses and flowers bloom and stay |
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Past our pain and our losses |
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when we climb the hill of crosses |
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March through death to where love is |
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When you climb the hill of crosses |
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Murder turns the sky to rust |
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Children's faces crumble to dust |
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Tyrants wax and tyrants wane |
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The tree bends but still remains |
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Past our pain and our losses |
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when we climb the hill of crosses |
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March through death to where love is |
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When you climb the hill of crosses |
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Cross-crowned with the sun's rays |
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They tore it down but it grew again |
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With Motherland blood grows the grain |
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Rye waves and harvest will come again |
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Past our pain and our losses |
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when we climb the hill of crosses |
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March through death to where love is |
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When you climb the hill of crosses... |
