There is a wood br where we played as children br and bluebells grow br br When you came home br after seeing the rape of Zimbabwe br we picked bluebells br br When you came home br from the killing fields of Iraq br we picked bluebells br br When you came home br from the poppy fields of Afghanistan br we picked bluebells br br When you came home br telling of monks beaten in Tibet br we picked bluebells br br When you came home br from the line of fire on the Gaza Strip br it was in a coffin br br There is a wood br where history plays tricks on us br and bluebells growbr br Roger Taberbr br