Whoa-oh...
Whah-o-o-oh!
Whoa-o-o-oh...
Whah-o-o-oh!
Ah-a-a-ah...
Ah-a-a-ah!
Whoa-oh...
Roses in the bush
Cut down at the garden's gate
It was too late
So much has fallen
Sound those broken bells
The priestess amongst us heeds
Bring in the seeds
A garden must grow
It has been said
By the likes of the living, that the dead
Make your bed
Even sinners go to drink the wine, break the bread
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
It has been said
By the likes of the living, that the dead
Make your bed
Even sinners go to drink the wine, break the bread
Eh-eh!
Eh-e-e-e-eh, o-oh...
O-oh, o-oh, o-oh...
Na-na-na-nah, na-na-nah, na-na-na-nah!
Whoa-oh! It has been said
Eh-eh! Make your bed
Whoa-oh! Lay down your head