"They say the tree never bothers the bees 
Growing slowly, cradles them carefully 
It never asks for any kind of sympathy 
For holding ten thousand lives at its mercy"

I've never felt so small, the scripture always tries 
To make me feel less strong and unsure of my life 
I want to see the sun just to know what it's like 
To glance above my head and have it hurt, so 
The daughter of evening, now knows the meaning 
Of fighting against the current, pulled by others 
Led with steel, we are real, now.

The false security of walls lined with stories 
And monks who preach control, our sacred role 
Our gifted souls - Enough literature 
I want to see the Earth 
From the outside, not the inside.

Her favourite book wasn't a story 
With words, it had charcoal drawings 
She kept it hidden under her shelf 
When the priest held elder meetings 
Pages turned, forever dreaming 
One day, to hold a seashell 
Just to feel - we are real, now.