"Is that my baby's voice I hear?
I cannot tell - I cannot find my ears;
my hands are mist, I think, their grip
has gone. Who calls me up from my grave?
I cannot see - shout out your name
whoever you are, or leave me in peace.
"She screams! My baby screams; no peace
shall ever come to a Mum who hears
such noise! I think I know your name
- hush, sweetness; unplug your ears
for you're in danger: I see a grave
and you, tumbled, caught in its grip!
"Enough of this nonsense, child. Get a grip!
You need some wits in your head to piece
together a plan to dodge this grave.
For he has chosen you, you hear,
just like he sliced my poor throat ere
my rightful time had come. His name
"is long forgotten; he gathers names
and tallies necks for the offering - rip
his eyes from their sockets, his ears
from his head and still he'll live: no peace
is he permitted, not even here,
for God has hidden away his grave ...
"Oh, sweetness, love: don't look so grave!
Your Dad gave you a powerful name;
even as he was leading me here
he kept his word, your Dad. Now grip
your mind to that idea: this peace
must end, and you must end it. For here's
"the thing, my love: you have his ears,
his father's face, their blood. No grave
can claim your flesh, their flesh, and peace
is your gift - if you discover his name
and the names of the powers kept in the grip
of his copper cauldron, yes? Now hear
"hear hear me child, hear me with heart and ears
and thought: unslip his grip on your grave,
carve his name on a tomb - offer him your peace."