LYRIC FOR SALE

By Jackie Hird

Verse 1)
Silently screaming, we witches see,
The pain of others we try to free.
Persecuted, a trail of flames,
Sport to some, their fearsome games.

(Verse 2)
Lift the mask — what lies beneath?
A quiet soul, filled with grief.
For mothers, sisters, slain before,
When men afeard broke down the door.

(Chorus)
Call her crone, call her hag,
She walks the path the healers drag.
With feverfew and garlic root,
She soothes the ache, she speaks the truth.

(Verse 3)
At one with trees, with reeds and rain,
She gathers herbs to ease your pain.
She comes to aid the sorry mind,
With nature’s gifts most leave behind.

(Bridge)
We always fear what we don’t know,
But start to talk, take time to slow.
See through another’s ancient eyes,
A world revealed, no more disguise.

(Chorus)
Call her crone, call her hag,
She walks the path the healers drag.
With feverfew and garlic root,
She soothes the ache, she speaks the truth.

(Outro)
So look and face those called “the witch,”
Let her healing your life enrich.
She’s not the curse, she’s not the flame —
She’s the whisper that calls your name.