|
Each of these
|
My three babies
|
I will carry with me
|
For myself
|
I ask no one else will be
|
Mother to these three
|
And of course
|
I'm like a wild horse
|
But there's no other way I could be
|
Water and feed
|
Are not tools that I need
|
For the thing that I've chosen to be
|
|
In my soul
|
My blood and my bones
|
I have wrapped your cold bodies around me
|
The face on you
|
The smell of you
|
Will always be with me
|
|
Each of these
|
My three babies
|
I was not willing to leave
|
Though I tried
|
I blasphemed and denied
|
I know they will be returned to me
|
Each of these
|
My babies
|
Have brought you closer to me
|
No longer mad like a horse
|
I'm still wild but not lost
|
From the thing that I've chosen to be
|
|
And it's `cause you've thrilled me
|
Silenced me
|
Stilled me
|
Proved things I never believed
|
The face on you
|
The smell of you
|
Will always be with me
|
|
Each of these
|
My three babies
|
I will carry with me
|
For myself
|
I ask no one else will be
|
Mother to these three
|
|
|
|
-----------------
|
Three Babies
|
| Sinead O Connor |
