Laura Marling

They danced like sirens,
Hoping the sun would come out again,
And I was born in the fog of that day,
Could they hear a babe, under all that faith,
Or have they forgot what it was they made?
Crawled out of the fog, found a river,
Found a log and floated away,
Didn't think I'd be coming back this way.
But my feet resolute, found their root,
And brought me back to its place.
And on the hill where I was born,
There is a rose without a thorn,
They cut it off each year and give it away.
But can they hear a babe, after all these days,
Or have they forgot what it was that they made?