11/07/2024
I am my motherās savage daughter,
the one who runs barefoot cursing sharp stones.
I am my motherās savage daughter,
I will not cut my hair, I will not lower my voice.
My motherās child is a savage,
She looks for her omens in the colors of stones,
In the faces of cats, in the fall of feathers,
In the dancing of fire and the curve of old bones.
My motherās 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.
My motherās child curses too loud and too often,
My motherās 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 wakening,
So sing them with voices of thunder and rain.
We are our motherās savage daughters,
The ones who run barefoot cursing sharp stones.
We are our motherās savage daughters,
We will not cut our hair, We will not lower our voice
My Motherās Savage Daughter words/music c.1990 k.l. u. kahan. š