Recorded & mixed at Laura Lee's house with Shalom Aberle

Tim Smith - Lead Vocal, Guitars, Bass, Keyboards
Rob Aldridge - Harmony Vocal
Roger Manning - Keyboards, Drum Program
Eric Dover - Mandolin, Guitar Solo

Lyrics from:
The bird that flies through any sort of weather
Changing course with sons
you know they own the better days (?)
and pride in the subtle ways of
strange coloured ruffeled feathers

Of Mother
only feeds the ones that have the purest wings
meaning pure in the sense of 
Grooming innocence on the 
wings just like mother and
she'll never fly, no she'll never fly

Mother may I say
I believe
The day you said I'd lost my head
the stars did see
The grip around this family breaks
the perch under the bastards feet
the branches of the family tree
Mother's fly from sons of broken wings

Oh Mother
pushes me untouched by human hands
from her mind I fly 
A situational goodbye
and a rare egg it seems
is so hard to find


That her sons could tell
That before she fell
It was life, before the life, we arranged her
The flavour of the day that spoiled the view
There's no way to tell, if she meant it well
When Mother's tried to give you freedom true
yea yea yea yea


Chorus except for last line...

Mothers die to sing bless us all