Good warrior, good healer, come sit for a spell.
‘Neath the bough of an oak tree, we three shall rest well.
In the dusk of the forest, I’ve a story to tell.
Good warrior, good healer, come sit for a spell.
From the shade of this oak tree, I’ve witnessed you each.
The sweat of your labors, the lessons you teach.
The one prone to swordplay, for justice you thirst.
The other left binding the wounds of the first.
Good warrior, good healer, your sorrows run deep.
From the flesh of the fallen, your crimson tears creep.
For no bandage can fight, and no sword would dare weep.
Good warrior, good healer, your sorrows run deep.
Your win every war, but injustice still feeds.
Your hand mends all wounds, but your Mother still bleeds.
Though I am soft spoken, a whisper of trees,
I pray you will listen, consider my pleas.
Good warrior, good healer, your strength is untold.
Sword and shield live to fight, heart and hand live to hold.
But when two become one, they are blessed tenfold.
Good warrior, good healer, your strength is untold.
If you seek peace with weapons, instead search your heart.
If to heal is your aim, then the fray is your start.
When wounds are all bound, the battle is won.
When justice ends war, the healing is done.
Good warrior, good healer, your hour is at hand.
Back to back in the fray, bound together you stand.
You fight without swords for to heal our good land.
Good warrior, good healer, your hour is at hand.