Tongue-tied, I am bound
To weave my words with thistledown
Sickle moon on the moor
Turns thistledown silver and fingers raw
I dye a thistle thread
Red for my mother's tongue
Mother's words made scavenging birds
A wish for a daughter, not seven sons
Brash words, a shower of stones
Drove seven princes from their thrones
Mother's words, the seed of me
Now I'm tongue-bound, tongue-bound 'til they are free
♪
I dye a thistle thread
Green for the woods where I make my bed
Where the ravens sing, the ravens sing
"Free us of our weary wings"
They sing, "Weave and spin, weave and spin
Seven shirts for Raven kings
Bite your tongue, swallow your tears
Tongue-bound, stitch-tongue for seven years"
I dye a thistle thread
White for the tears I will not shed
Pale fingers, worn red-raw
Red for the tongue I move no more
Tongue-tied, I am bound
To weave my words with thistledown
Sickle moon on the moor
Turns thistledown silver and fingers raw
Tongue-tied, I am bound
To weave my words with thistledown
Sickle moon on the moor
Turns thistledown silver and fingers raw
Tongue-tied, I am bound
To weave my words with thistledown
Sickle moon on the moor
Turns thistledown silver and fingers raw
Tongue-tied, I am bound
To weave my words with thistledown
Sickle moon on the moor
Turns thistledown silver and fingers raw
Tongue-tied, I am bound
To weave my words with thistledown
Sickle moon on the moor
Turns thistledown silver and fingers raw
Tongue-tied, I am bound
To weave my words with thistledown
Sickle moon on the moor
Turns thistledown silver and fingers raw
Tongue-tied, I am bound
To weave my words with thistledown
Sickle moon on the moor
Turns thistledown silver and fingers raw