Roses in the bush
Cut down at the Garden's Gate
It was too late
So much has fallen

Sound the broken bells
The priestess amongst us heeds
Bring in the seeds
A garden must grow
Oh

It has been said
By the likes of the living and the dead
Make your bed
Even sinners go to drink the wine, break the bread
Ah oh

Prisoners of the king
Are promised their freedom for
Planting a score
Of infantry vines

From the bowing earth
Uprises the weeds of war
Caving the floor
A renaissance born
Oh

It has been said
By the likes of the living and the dead
Make your bed
Even sinners go to drink the wine, break the bread
Ah oh

Whoa whoa whoa, it has been said
Yeah yeah yeah, make up your bed
Whoa whoa whoa, lay down your head