Pilgrims call it "the tree of life"
Bough where the dark eyes hang
In the pines with the golden needles
Divided, spreading their wings
They fly up (up) from the tree
As they are taking down the tent
Like there's no more poetry
Women chanting, blind man sings
See the ghost of it
Hear the old owl sing
I was born to be your poet
I am the woman, your poet
All that I am
And I know just one thing
No one is the poet. I am
I was born to be your poet
I am the woman, your poet
All that I am
And I know just one thing
No one is the poet. I am
Kissing goodbye in hospital
This world can't stand long
Never got what we should have had
You can't have what they had, their loss
If you'll make it or not to the heavens
And bring back your soul in this song
I was born to be your poet
I am the woman, your poet
All that I am
And I know just one thing
No one is the poet. I am
I was born to be your poet
I am the woman, your poet
All that I am
And I know just one thing
No one is the poet. I am
You never will want for money
Because you will never want it
I forsake everything but the tree