true design I've lost my will to conform

Lying in the wake
A caravan's exodus

Medicine man show
the shaman child
He was only brought to birth
to serve the wilderness kind

There she stands
1942
Her scarlet blood red lips
the mirror seems to crack a gaze

Ready to be a working woman
Ready to be a rosie
ready to show some what she's made of

In a long forgotten understory
soon to be revealed
She
is the matriarch
strong and soft with a weakness to fold
only to be let loose of what shes been told
what she communicates
what she knows like the reeds in the tidal drifts
knowing, waiting for the tide
the rushes rush

Now she is that matriarch the one we fear
she is suckled by both
life abounds
life astounds
until you are truly left lying by the fronds - a little god you may spy.
there is life in them there hills

Worlds couldn't be more further apart
Worlds couldn't be in more contrast
Worlds couldn't be more at your elbows.