Lyrics

She is a lover to father and a mother to me.
A writer of stories, but I think there’s more she could be.
She helps not herself, just everyone else in this house.
The role that she plays is to make sure the flames get put out.
And I can’t imagine that God could have fashioned A woman more woman than she.
She takes what she’s got, and she makes it a lot. Then she gives it away for free.

She is a keeper of secrets much deeper than sin.
She says the answer to earthquakes and cancer is within.
And maybe she’s wrong, but hey, I’ll go along with her still.
'Cause if she can’t help me I know that nobody else will.
And I can’t imagine that God could have fashioned A woman more woman than she.
She takes what she’s got, and she makes it a lot. Then she gives it away for free.

I am your daughter, and I wouldn’t offer
To give something I couldn’t take.
So I see you’re hurtin; give me your burden
If for no other reason than to teach me your ways.
Please, Mother.

She is a lover to father and a mother to me.
And I know she cries, but she still tries to hide that from me.
Wisdom, they say, comes from learning with age to be hard.
But I have this theory that some mothers clearly just are.
And I can’t imagine that God could have fashioned A woman more woman than she.
She takes what she’s got, and she makes it a lot. Then she gives it away for free.