| Jerusalem is
|
| Where the cobblestones
|
| Wet with the blood of ages
|
| Hear the echo of wheels turning hist’ry’s pages —
|
| Where the cries of fools stilled the words of sages
|
| Oh
|
| Jerusalem is
|
| 'neath an olive tree branch anyone can listen
|
| To the song of songs as the green leaves glisten
|
| Then a summer rain falls and the raindrops christen
|
| What Jerusalem is
|
| And the river runs on and the world keeps turning
|
| And the water’s cold
|
| Tho the sands are burning
|
| And the mountains know while we still are learning
|
| What Jerusalem is
|
| Oh
|
| When will tomorrow’s sons
|
| Tomorrow’s daughters
|
| Never taste of the bread cast upon the waters
|
| And put down the sword that performed the slaughters
|
| Where Jerusalem is?
|
| Where the cobblestones
|
| Wet with the blood of ages
|
| Hear the echo of wheels turning hist’ry’s pages —
|
| Where the cries of fools stilled the words of sages
|
| Oh
|
| Jerusalem is
|
| And the river
|
| Oh
|
| The river runs and the world keeps turning
|
| And the water’s cold
|
| Tho the sands are burning
|
| And the mountains know while we still are learning |
| What Jerusalem is
|
| And the river
|
| Oh
|
| The river runs and the world keeps turning |