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Jerusalem
Where the mothers of sonsnever cease their weepingwhere
the fathers of faith in the ground lie sleepingwhere
the seeds of time have a whirlwind reapingohJerusalem
is.Where the cobblestoneswet with the blood of ageshear
the echo of wheels turning hist'ry's pages -where the
cries of fools stilled the words of sagesohJerusalem
is.'neath an olive tree branch anyone can listento
the song of songs as the green leaves glisten.
Then a summer rain falls and the raindrops christenwhat
Jerusalem is.And the river runs on and the world keeps
turningand the water's coldtho the sands are burningand
the mountains know while we still are learningwhat
Jerusalem is.Ohwhen will tomorrow's sonstomorrow's
daughtersnever taste of the bread cast upon the watersand
put down the sword that performed the slaughtersWhere
Jerusalem is ?Where the cobblestoneswet with the blood
of ageshear the echo of wheels turning hist'ry's pages
-where the cries of fools stilled the words of sagesohJerusalem
is.And the riverohthe river runs and the world keeps
turningand the water's coldtho the sands are burningand
the mountains know while we still are learningwhat
Jerusalem is.And the riverohthe river runs and the world keeps turning.
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Jerusalem is.And the riverohthe river runs and the world keeps turning.
the mountains know while we still are learningwhat
turningand the water's coldtho the sands are burningand
is.And the riverohthe river runs and the world keeps
-where the cries of fools stilled the words of sagesohJerusalem
of ageshear the echo of wheels turning hist'ry's pages
Jerusalem is ?Where the cobblestoneswet with the blood
put down the sword that performed the slaughtersWhere
daughtersnever taste of the bread cast upon the watersand
Jerusalem is.Ohwhen will tomorrow's sonstomorrow's
the mountains know while we still are learningwhat
turningand the water's coldtho the sands are burningand
Jerusalem is.And the river runs on and the world keeps
Then a summer rain falls and the raindrops christenwhat
the song of songs as the green leaves glisten.
is.'neath an olive tree branch anyone can listento
cries of fools stilled the words of sagesohJerusalem
the echo of wheels turning hist'ry's pages -where the
is.Where the cobblestoneswet with the blood of ageshear
the seeds of time have a whirlwind reapingohJerusalem
the fathers of faith in the ground lie sleepingwhere
Where the mothers of sonsnever cease their weepingwhere
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