The storm is better from in the fields of flowers
His rage released to our heavenly sea and dells
Do not go to the land of His power

Where tulips grow and life thrives like sunshine
Only man may run through where darkness dispels
The storm is better in the fields of flowers

The old man goes to the field near his hour
Where fierce words are thrown to Him with short farewells
Brave men search for their meaning away from power

The cloaked bore in their holy tower
while the wild men run from the church bells
The storm is better in the fields flowers

And rain drowns them and slowly devours
their deepest desires for faith compels
do not go to the land of His power.

When the men leave the field of flowers
They are welcomed to His throne, conquered
do not go to the land of His power
The Storm is better from the fields of flowers.