In the highlands above a war-torn village plundered cruelly
A voice rises high and clear on the winds and in eerie tones
Sings a lovely light-hearted lad of flowers and light and power
The kind of power that conquers all and leaves no stone
Unturned in its victory and as he feels the tears
Rolling down his cheeks and onto the rocks he piles onto the cairns
Of his family and the utter rage of his devastation soaks them as
He raises his voice in spellbound glory and it breaks only a little
As he reclaims himself and his will to live is entirely unruled
By the smoke and ruin below him and his sister’s screams
Echo in his ears as he sings of the only thing that can save
Them now as he sings of flower and light and love and a dozen years
From now he will meet her again the treasured wife of a foreign prince
And those tears will fall as prolific as they did the day she was taken
On his knees a blinded drunken minstrel on loan from his master
With chains around his ankles and a brand around his neck
Soon to be replaced with a noose he sings in eerie tones
Of the power of love