Her mother had warned her, like a good mother should.
Her quicksilver tongue would do her no good.
She urged her to soften, like the wind in the spring.
She urged her to quiet, to obey, to be weak.

Her mother had warned her, like a good mother should.
About the depth in her eyes like the black cottonwood.
Still she danced in the minefields and set fire to rain.
She was youthful and fierce, too wild to be tame.

Her mother had warned her, like a good mother should.
That if she didn’t love her, no man ever would.
But the girl she stayed wild, as free as could be.
As sharp as the wind, as blue as the sea.

Her mother had warned her like a good mother should.
About the dangers of beauty, ones she herself understood
For the metallic crimson that raced down her skin
Was a reminder of the past, a reminder of him.

Her mother had warned her like a good mother should.
But try as she might, nobody could.