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