Nodding tho the lamp's lit low, nod for passers underground.
To and fro she's darning, and the land is weeping red and pale.
Weeping yarn from Algiers. Weeping yarn from Algiers.
Weaving tho the eyes are pale, what will rend will also mend.
The sifting cloth is binding, and the dream she weaves will never end.
weeping
weaving
waving
toward
underground
tears
field
cradle
children
algiers
marching
their
carried
lullaby
barren
nodding
dream
broken
binding
marched
mourning
cloth
never
passers
raise
sifting
weaves
stars
rocked
still
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