The Sting

She's counting stars on a cloudy night

Lazily stretching her arms toward the sky

Her shoulders itch and ache where her feathered wings once grew

She takes a deep breath ... and the air cracks

She remembers how his selfishness held her back

How many women feel the sting

Of phantom plumes

And clipped off ancient wings?

Do they dream of open skies or ...

Do they dream of babies and lullabies?

Do they remember how it felt to fly?

How many women feel that sting?

Now she walks through thick crowds

A proud but invisible queen

Hiding her crown in a bag where it can't be seen

The ground is heavy...Her steps drag slow

But her heart beats songs only angels know

How many women feel the sting

Of phantom plumes

And clipped off ancient wings?

Do they dream of babies and lullabies?

Do they remember how it felt to fly?

How many women feel that sting?

Her wings were stolen

But not her fire

Her heart has been

Forged in a golden pyre

She's proud of her scars,

They're her map to the sky

She doesn't need wings to know how to fly

How many women feel the sting

Of phantom plumes

And clipped off ancient wings?

Do they dream of babies and lullabies?

Do they remember how it felt to fly?

How many women feel that sting?