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