(Tune: original, words by Janet)

Turn the seed, spill the silk, weave the world colour,
Turn the seed, spin the silk, weave the world free.

Here in the darkness, a circle of seven,
Spinning and spinning the fire-crystal thread,
We are the women with no-one to bind us,
We are the lost, for our children are dead.

Here in the circle, we women are waiting,
Biding our time while the towers grow strong,
For we are the women with no tribe to blind us
With laws and with customs to say we do wrong.

Here in the Northlands, we gather by moonlight,
Many and many, we rise to one call;
Here is the circle, the first of our calling,
This is the tower that never shall fall.

Here in the tower where crystals are burning,
Here are the daughters of women unborn,
Here are the women, the stone-broke and heartless,
Who offer their making though their life-line is torn.

Here in the snow-white, the height of the Shandar,
Gather the women, the hope of the world,
Coming and going, their hands never idle,
Spinning at life, till the gift is revealed.

Turn the seed, spill the silk, weave the world stronger,
Turn the seed, spin the life, weave the world well.