I am my Mother's savage daughter.
The one who runs barefoot, cursing sharp stones.
I am my Mother's savage daughter.
I'll not cut my hair.
I will not lower my voice.
My Mother's child is a savage
She looks for her omens in the colours of stones
In the faces of cats and the fall of feathers
In the dancing of fire and the curve of old bones
My Mother's child dances in darkness
And sings heathen songs by the light of the moon
And watches the stars and renames the planets
And dreams she can reach them with a song and a broom
Now my Mother's child curses too loud and too often
My Mother's child laughs too hard and too long
And howls at the moon and sleeps in ditches
And clumsily raises her voice in this song.
Now we all are brought forth out of darkness and water
Brought into this world through blood and through pain
And deep in our bones the old songs are waking
So sing them with voices of thunder and rain.
