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The Lark:
Where the yarrow grows
(Where the yarrow
Where the yarrow
Where the yarrow)
Where the yarrow grows
Find me beneath the grove
Home

Cole:
The hills were left quiet and I am in hiding
They've forgotten, they've forgotten
I do not want to see
I could hear and that's enough, the clashing of the hoards
Hoof by hoof, horn by horn
Raging song and an encore
I could barely speak, I could only hum a tune
And with that I am met with a chorus I am soon
Sought and safe behind a wing, my farewells to the fields
To the man made of straws
To my name
To the hills

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