Lyrics
O Mother Iron,
Can’t you see the blackbirds steal
All the seeds the winter garden
Has managed yet to yield
In the distance church bells tolling
Candles burning low
We share the words so soft, consoling,
Freeing you to go
I hold your ancient hand
I smell the dying rose
O Mother Iron,
I can taste the bluebird’s tears
As he sits and weeps with me
For the ending of your years
Standing by the gravesite, crying
I can’t read her name
December’s frozen light is dying
It’s all a losing game
I held your ancient hand
I burned the dying rose
O Mother Iron,
I can hear the redbirds sing
As they alight with hopeful thoughts
Of an early Spring
Standing by the roadside, waiting
I’ll still make it home
Vernal yearnings, slow returning
As sunlight glints off passing chrome
I held your ancient hand
I burned the dying rose
I sense you are at last at peace
I know that you are home
ANDREW NOLAN TRENT, ANDREW PAUL SIMPSON, JEFFREY DANE WALLACE, TY CLOUD DENTON
Songtrust Ave