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