Mother McCrae

Mother MacCrae stands at her loom
In the pale light of an ivory room
Weaving away does what she must
Making weapons that turn us to dust.

Yes, Mother MacCrae in her ivory room
Working away on a weapon of doom.

Mother MacCrae weaves and ties
Bright bands of light into ribbons of sky
Mother MacCrae knows just what she can do
In one big explosion of myrmidon hue.

Yes, Mother MacCrae in her ivory room
Working away on a weapon of doom.

Mother MacCrae of inscrutable eyes
Hands on the loom and a witness that dies
Mother MacCrae, what’s your delight
In being a technician of endless night?

Yes, Mother MacCrae in her ivory room
Working away on a weapon of doom.

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