Baba Yaga woke today in the form of a sage bag-lady weaving tales on the edge of the city exit 93 The Children of the Overpa** leaned in to listen to the words, to the wisdom of the ages and the story set them free The Crone, our Mother, watched tonight from her vantage point above in the cloudspace high above the city's anger from a safer place than we. She watched the Freeway/Cellphone Generation as it shrank away from the real They called the Highway Patrol to ask Baba Yaga to leave But she would not be escorted, shook with laughter inside her shawl, Asked the nice young policeman "where shall I go? Your brothers may witness me tomorrow, hear the same words you resist, learn from the prophecy that escapes you here, what you refuse to know." And she smiled then, all toothless, a Rock of Ages standing still At the Campfire of Baba Yaga, the Street Children held their Dance She turned to face the brave ones, those who listened without fear, those who left their houses, highways, their reality just to hear her speak, all who took that chance Chorus: She said "I will be here when you're ready. My fire will still burn when yours starts to go." She said "I have always been here, I with my fearless feet in the snow"" She said "I'll be here just to watch you grow." Daddy's Little Girl awoke today, in a form all self-sufficience She packed her bags and left the house long before he rose He awoke without his coffee, checked her room but she was gone gone to meet someone he'd never seen, he smiled and sighed "she's a woman; it's the path she chose." Well, Daddy's little woman's on the edge of town, can't remember where she came from Heaven only knows what's become of her lover, left her high and dry we suppose. She lingers on the freeway with her eyes upon the smile of the wise and ancient Baba Yaga.' And So It Goes. Chorus... And I'll let you know, I'll let you know, oh...