| ← | Ken Hensley | → |
e - D
| She came to me one morning, one lonely Sunday morning |
| Her long hair flowing in the mid-winter wind |
| I know not how she found me, for in darkness I was walking |
| And destruction lay around me from a fight I could not win |
Ah ...
| She asked me name my foe then, I said the need within some men |
| To fight and kill their brothers without thought of love or God |
| And I begged her give me horses to trample down my enemies |
| So eager was my passion to devour this waste of life |
Ah ...
| But she would not think of battle that |
| Reduces men to animals, so easy to begin and yet impossible to end |
| For she, the mother of all men, had counciled me so wisely that |
| I feared to walk alone again and asked if she would stay |
Ah ...
| Oh, lady, lend your hand, I cried, oh, let me rest here at your side |
| Have faith and trust in me, she said and filled my heart with life |
| There is no strength in numbers, I've no such misconceptions |
| But when you need me be assured I won't be far away |
Ah ...