The winter is a tyrant, but my love is like a flame
Oh, my love is gone to Babylon and I am left with rain
And my love for him surrounds me like the fruit around the stone
Like his miracle of blood and blessings sweetly nesting in my home
And it is freedom that paints my lips red
That lets me want you as I conquer being good
And while I'm breathing, well it's on my head
For there are blue Moroccan skies behind this sisterhood
My sister's face is hidden like the world before the dawn
Like the world of God, unbidden or invited into form
And the love of Him surrounds her like the fruit around the stone
And the miracles of all his blessings swiftly flutter to her home
And it is freedom that paints the streets red
That us me wander if we conquer as we should
And while we're breathing, well it's on our head
For there are blue Moroccan skies behind this sisterhood
The goshawk is a hunter, she's the feather of the grave
Where the hooded are in slumber, yet she'll never be a slave
For the sky it doth surround her like the fruit around the stone
And her miracles are bloody, and her freedom is to man unknown
And it is freedom that paints my lips red
That lets me want you as I conquer being good
And while I'm breathing, well it's on my head
For there are blue Moroccan skies behind this sisterhood
And it is freedom that paints the streets red
That us me wander if we conquer as we should
And while we're breathing, well it's on our head
For there are blue Moroccan skies behind this sisterhood
For there are blue Moroccan skies behind this sisterhood