| There is a valley where the tree stand tall and an icy wind blows
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| Trees don’t speak, but they speak to each other
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| Of the people long ago
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| When the soldiers came and took away the villages one by one
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| And the fury of that moment they felt
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| But could only silently look above
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| There is a mountainside where sheep are grazing with their young
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| Sheep don’t speak, but they speak to each other
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| Of a killing long ago
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| When the people came and sacrificed their children to the sun
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| And the fury of the moment they felt
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| But could only silently look above
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| There is a hill near Jerusalem that wild flowers grow upon
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| Flowers don’t speak, but they speak to each other of a crucifixion
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| Just because he said he was the son of God
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| And the fury of the moment they felt they could only silently look upon
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| Every city bar brawl, every fist-fight, every bullet from a gun
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| It’s written upon the palms of the Holy One
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| Every city bar brawl, every fist-fight, every bullet from a gun
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| It’s written in the palms, in the palms of the Holy One |