To all my lifelong enemies
May your vain pretenses scatter like tears
Upon some broken battleground
In some hollow year.
May your scouts never discover
The places that I roam
May your arrows always be broken
And your clothes wet to the bone.
And the rose of Sharon lies broken
And withered on the storm
And every sailor lies hoping
Her boat will see the morn.

To all my fellow travellers
Upon this rocky path.
May our feet always have boots on,
And our ways never to part
May we always have air in our tires,
May we always have gas in our tanks,
May our bellies never grumble
And we always see fit to give thanks.

Though the rose of Sharon lies broken
And withered on the storm
And how every sailor dies hoping
His boat will see the morn

To my friends gone on before me
Through that doleful veil
May your robes be soft and fragrant
And the fountain of your tears have failed
May your arms be open for me,
And your hearts glad each one,
Let every one of your voices
Proclaim the goodness of Heaven's song!
And how the rose of Sharon lies broken
And withered on the storm
And how every sailor dies hoping
His Boat will see the morn.

To all my fellow warriors
May your aim always be true.
May you never have to hurt anyone
Who would not have tried to hurt you.
May your sleep always be untroubled
May your laughter never be false
May you all die with your boots on,
And may you never back the wrong horse.
Or see the rose of Sharon lie broken
And withered on the storm
Or how every sailor dies hoping
Her boat will see the morn.

Oh children of my children,
Blood of my tainted blood,
May you all guard your futures
By paying respect to the past.
May you all grow up to be free,
May you all live to be right
About the only questions that matter
Before you fade into the night:
How the rose of Sharon lies broken
And withered on the storm
And how every sailor lays hoping
His boat will see the morn.

I stand here before you
I've nothing I'm trying to hide
Ive travelled across this old world
Both far and wide
I've seen Asia's jungles
I've stood in the city's shine
I've sweltered on the prairie
And I've drowned in honey and shame
And seen the rose of Sharon lay broken
And withered on the storm
And how every sailor dies hoping
Their boat will see the morn.