When the day, when the day falls to the light
At the end, oh the end, of my time
I call to the dark
Take the bones off my back
And I chant to the black
You were my lady divine
Cause my children are in hiding
Mortar and pestle they grind

Those songs whistled through white teeth do scuff the days
With songs for children to sing
Those songs whistled through white teeth, do scuff the days
With songs, for children, to sing

When the chairs are tucked into the fading song
And the silver of their pours has grown long
Oh they call to the dark
Take the bones off my back
And they chant to the black
You were my lady divine
And they bloat like a bitter wine in their bellies
Cause the bones have been removed
From their hunched over backs
And their children are all grown now
Mortar and pestle they grind
Those songs whistled through white teeth still scuff the days
With songs for children to sing
Those songs whistled through white teeth still scuff the days
Those songs for children to sing
Those songs for children to sing