There's a woman down the back street
She leaves a trail of feathers
She's carrying a suitcase
Ivory and leather
She's rummaging the dustbins
She's looking but not finding
I see her at the bus stop
She holds a leather suitcase
Her eyes are like two street lights
They flicker in her furrowed face
She mutters and she murmurs
There's a rattling, a rasping
She might be singing something
But it's lost in traffic roaring
She's weaving up the high street
Against a tide of faces
They're looking but not seeing
People going places
She's searching for something
She's looking but not finding
I walk home through the back street
As night turns into morning
There's a little fire
To the eastward, burning
I turn around the corner
There's a rattling, a rasping
She's underneath the street light
Singing while she's working
Her suitcase is wide open
It's spilling out it's treasure
Yellow bones a-glowing
Ivory and leather
She's looking and she's finding
She's knitting them together
And the dawn is breaking
The ragged bones are mending
They're growing flesh and feathers
They're breathing and they're stirring
They're stirring and they're waking
They're rising and they're singing
They fly into the morning
The street lights are buzzing
And the sky is full of ringing
The woman down the back street
Has vanished with her suitcase
And all the birds are singing
All the birds are singing
All the birds are singing