(*Brooks)
[** Bonus:]
Hey mother fertile one*
Speak to me your numbered son
From the dust of wood and stone
Gave you birth to flesh and bone
Suckled we your lovely breast
And filled your shores from east to west
Plucked the fruit from every vine
And filled the stores at harvest time
But from the seed of Eve child’s womb
Human hands have wrought their doom
Hey mother tell your child
The fertile fields have grown up wild
Do you see your cherished pride
Drying on a withered vine
Withered vine, do you see
Bitter wine left on the leaves
Hey mother hear my plea
Send the one to set us free
To turn away our hearts no more
And slake our thirst for blood and war
Blood and war, days of old
Bring the lion to the fold
Hey children hear my plea
Locust come like stormy seas
Study now your own two hands
Lest you lose your mother’s land
Study now your own two hands
Lest you lose your mother’s land