| <Iris DeMent> page <The Trackless Woods> album page |
Listening to SingingA woman's voice, like the wind, it rushesNocturnal, moist and black And as it flies, whatever it brushes It changes and it won't change back It's a diamond-shine, comes to bathe and bless Things are draped in a silvery light It rustles its suggestive dress Woven of fantasy, silken and bright And the power that propels the enchanted voice Displays such a hidden might It's as if the grave were not ahead It's as if the grave were not ahead But mysterious stairs beginning their flight And the power that propels the enchanted voice Displays such a hidden might It's as if the grave were not ahead It's as if the grave were not ahead It's as if the grave were not ahead But mysterious stairs beginning their flight |