How the lonely day passes for those in the field
How the lonely week passes for those who yield
This is for all who have forgotten
And for all who feel fear
The whip as it strikes
The sword as it nears

The blossom of hope can be many colors
Sown by the dead or fed by copper
The never ending wave of enormous grief
Or the turning of a beautiful leaf
Fate, destiny all untold
How the gentle breeze has become cold

The ones who parish the ones who still live
Those lucky ones with love to give
Hear my plea, here's to my cry
As I tell you a lullaby