(Sinead O'Connor)

Each of these

My three babies

I will carry with me

For myself

I ask no one else will be

Mother to these three

And of course

I'm like a wild horse

But there's no other way I could be

Water and feed

Are not tools that I need

For the thing that I've chosen to be

In my soul

My blood and my bones

I have wrapped your cold bodies around me

The face on you

The smell of you

Will always be with me

Each of these

My three babies

I was not willing to leave

Though I tried

I blasphemed and denied

I know they will be returned to me

Each of these

My babies

Have brought you closer to me

No longer mad like a horse

I'm still wild but not lost

From the thing that I've chosen to be

And it's `cause you've thrilled me

Silenced me

Stilled me

Proved things I never believed

The face on you

The smell of you

Will always be with me

Each of these

My three babies

I will carry with me

For myself

I ask no one else will be

Mother to these three