Where the mothers of sonsnever cease their weeping
where the fathers of faith in the ground lie sleeping
where the seeds of time have a whirlwind reaping
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
'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 w
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