Caught in the riddle, woven in the song Ring out the bell sing high sing long Call up the river, take my hand Sing of the things we can't understand Sing, sing unto me A whisper of morning touches the trees A night of black cloth gone telling the bees I'm like a moth on the wing to the light you lend Bring me a turnaround turn me to the end Sing, sing unto me
I stood by the mountain all of an evening what a lovely epitaph! As the sun rose over me, a tapestry of colour and sound Rise above us and colour the cold hard ground
Oh mother mender stitch and sew, nurture prosper thrive and grow Yours is the labour that planted the seeds yours is the fruit that came from the trees Sing unto me! The cloth is magic, the thread is gold sing with me till we grow old A basket of buttons a bundle of yarn Sing yourself into my arms! Sing, sing unto me
I stood by the mountain all of an evening what a lovely epitaph, oh! As her wings encircled me, a symphony of colour and sound Rise above us and cover the cold hard ground
Sewn and hewn, carved and wrought The things to be given not sold nor bought The things to which we turn our hands Leave an imprint on the rippling sand Sewn and hewn, carved and wrought The things to be given not sold nor bought The things to which we turn our hands Leave an imprint on the rippling sands
I stood by the mountain all of an evening what a lovely epitaph oh! As the sun set over me, a symphony of colour and sound Rise above us and cover the cold hard ground.