(THERE ARE FLOWERS GROWING UPON THE HILL)

There are flowers growing upon the hill
Like they always have before.
Will you stay here with me, or go and kill
On a foreign lonely shore?

Put away your anger, your sword, your steed,
And away your hatred bear.
Will you leave the sun and its shining heat
For to seek the darkness there?

But you love your anger, your sword, your steed,
And all that's gone before.
Now the ways of peace are again betrayed.
Away, fine lad, once more.

On his horse he rode.
Distant truths are untold
'Til the cold steel through his heart
Did strike the mortal blow.

There are flowers growing upon the hill
Like they always have before,
And now you slumber and all is still,
And your sword will ne'er strike more,
And your sword will ne'er strike more.