Women are the weavers of stories and lives
And a woman can see in another woman’s eyes
To the depth of a heart and a soul in seed
In the want, in the joy, in the cry in need

Heart honed as the fingers of a fleshless sigh
To the visceral laughter of an angel on high
Drawn near, drawn close to a point, to a hole
Not filled ‘til we heal our own aching soul

‘til we eye to eye each other in time
Say I to I
I am, am I

And a mother is no mother
But a spirit of flight
As a beacon that beckons
In a pale blue night

To draw near, draw close
Ourselves in time
Say I to I
I am, am I
Women are the weavers of stories and lives
And a woman can see in another woman’s eyes
To the depth of a heart and a soul in seed
In the want, in the joy, in the cry in need

Heart honed as the fingers of a fleshless sigh
To the visceral laughter of an angel on high
Drawn near, drawn close to a point, to a hole
Not filled ‘til we heal our own aching soul

‘til we eye to eye each other in time
Say I to I
I am, am I

And a mother is no mother
But a spirit of flight
As a beacon that beckons
In a pale blue night