Mother,
this is the coldest ground I've ever slept on
it is the wind that tells me to keep
my hands grabbing at the rock
it is the wind that whispers the last lie

but all that I felt was love and grace
all that I see here is just haze
is it you that I'm talking to?
or your ashes?

but then again a trial for my being pure
the beauty that I sang was never mine
yet I sang for him and for her
and my lashes

Mother,
that was the hardest cloth I've ever woven
you should've told me what would come out
of the love I've learned to fear
this is the shortest night I'll ever live

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