The first voice is close and unhurried: “I am my mother's savage daughter,” set inside that slow tread.

The refusal stays composed here. “I will not cut my hair” doesn't need a big swell; the steady pulse lets the words stand on their own.

Now the images come one by one: omens in stones, then cats and feathers, all carried by the same patient circling underneath.

When the refrain returns, it already feels known. The rhythm is a little more active, but the vocal still hangs open above it.

This verse moves into darkness and moonlight, but the song keeps its feet on the ground with that same measured step.

After “a song and a broom,” the words step back. The repeated motion keeps holding the space without needing a new lyric right away.

The return changes the grammar: “We are all brought forth out of darkness.” The same slow pulse now carries a shared voice instead of only an “I.”

“The old songs are waking” is the lift in this passage, and the delivery stays steady enough that the line feels remembered rather than announced.

The refrain comes back as plural now: “our mother's savage daughters.” What was self-naming has become communal without changing the song's basic stride.

The last refusal is still plain and centered, and then the recording lets that final refusal to lower their voice hang as the sound gives way.