I lay in the loam of the cave
A root in a cold stony grave
My fibers are tangled and tight
Waiting for one sliver of light
Oh pull the string and let it fly
A streak of gold across the sky
I feel the tremor in the clay
The girl who washes fear away
Monstera leaves curl in the damp
Beside a flickering oil lamp
She touches the bark with a hand
A stranger in this jagged land
The ferns are all shivering blue
Drinking the heavy morning dew
She bleeds on the soil and the grit
While the old torches slowly are lit
Oh pull the string and let it fly
A streak of gold across the sky
I feel the tremor in the clay
The girl who washes fear away
The Calathea knows the rain
The salt of the sweat and the pain
She climbs through the vine and the thorn
A warrior spirit is born
I watch from the mud and the weed
Sowing a desperate new seed
The island is heavy and deep
Where the forgotten spirits sleep
Oh pull the string and let it fly
A streak of gold across the sky
I feel the tremor in the clay
The girl who washes fear away
Rooted in the stone.
She is not alone.
The Silver Bow.
