Where the mothers of sons never cease their weepingwhere the fathers of faith in the ground lie sleepingwhere the seeds of time have a whirlwind reapingohJerusalem is.Where the cobblestones wet with the blood of ageshear the echo of wheels turning hist’ry’s pages -where the cries of fools stilled the words of sagesohJerusalem is.’neath an olive tree branch anyone can listento the song of songs as the green leaves glisten.Then a summer rain falls and the raindrops christenwhat Jerusalem is.And the river runs on and the world keeps turningand the water’s cold to the sands are burningand the mountains know while we still are learningwhat Jerusalem is.Ohwhen will tomorrow’s sonstomorrow’s daughtersnever taste of the bread cast upon the watersand put down the sword that performed the slaughtersWhere Jerusalem is ?Where the cobblestones wet with the blood of ageshear the echo of wheels turning hist’ry’s pages -where the cries of fools stilled the words of sagesohJerusalem is……