Letras
Gathering herbs in fields of sorrow,
The sky is gray, there's no tomorrow.
The drums of war beat far from home,
We march these lands, forever roam.
Oh, the wind it whispers low,
Tales of where the rivers flow.
Dreams of past, so far behind,
Peace and love we cannot find.
Oh, how I long for the place I know,
The gentle streams, where flowers grow.
But here I stand in armor worn,
By battlefields my heart is torn.
We left our homes with heads held high,
But now we fight beneath the sky.
The years have passed, the nights are cold,
Our stories fade, left untold.
The moon above, it shines so pale,
Lights the path of our endless trail.
No hearth to warm, no roof to stay,
Only the wind to lead the way.
Oh, how I long for the place I know,
The gentle streams, where flowers grow.
But here I stand in armor worn,
By battlefields my heart is torn.
The blossoms fall, the seasons change,
But all we feel is out of range.
The distant call of the sparrow's song,
A faint reminder of where we belong.
Oh, how I long for the place I know,
The gentle streams, where flowers grow.
But here I stand in armor worn,
By battlefields my heart is torn.
When will the war release its hold?
Will we return to lands of old?
Until that day, we bear the weight,
Of broken dreams and bitter fate.