© 2013 C./R. Rothschild
It is a little lamp who brings me the idea of light
And who I carry with me
At all times in this darkening night
I do not know who it is that carries it in my hand.
I came upon a darkened road, falling, falling
that sloped down to the river. (Etc.)
I saw a lantern moving, I felt the branches shiver
When Who Knows Who is really there, and who knows who is really there?
The blunt edge of the blade I fear, the blunt edge of the blade I hear you
hammering, hammering, hammering, hammering
I wrapped myself in blankets, changing, changing
I wrapped myself unknowingly. (Etc.)
I found I did not recognize the face the mountains showed me
I found I did not recognize the name my mother called me
I wrapped myself in blankness, I wrapped myself unknowingly.
But Who Knows Who is really there, but who knows who is really there,
answering, answering, answering, answering?
You grow, drinking in the light,
a soul, shimmering and bright.
There’s no shrinking from the sight, no sinking in this holy tide, you’re alight,
You grow, drinking in the light,
a soul, shimmering and bright.
There’s no shrinking from the sight, no sinking in this holy tide, you’re alight,
you’re alive.