[Verse 1]
High above valley
Above deep shade coloured with the calls of cuckoos
The ring of coppersmith's hammer
High in the hiss of the wind
Wind filled with spirits
And bright with the jangle of horse bells
After a crisp night crammed with stars
It's morning
Over the scratched-up soil, scorched-earth wasted
Long shadows lead women bearing water
I watch the sway of skirts
Think of moist spice forests—
Still midnight whispers at my ear

[Chorus]
Weavers' fingers flying on the loom
Patterns shift too fast to be discerned
All these years of thinking
Ended up like this
In front of all this beauty
Understanding nothing

[Verse 2]
Rhododendrons in bloom
Sharp against spring snow
Remind me of another time
In Japanese temple—
There was a single orange blossom
At the wrong time of year—
It seemed like a sign—
When I looked again
It was gone
[Chorus]
Weavers' fingers flying on the loom
Patterns shift too fast to be discerned
All these years of thinking
Ended up like this
In front of all this beauty
Understanding nothing
All these years of thinking
Ended up like this
In front of all this beauty
Understanding nothing