Verse 1 In sixteen hundred, beneath the firs, Where winter swallowed sound, Our mothers gathered healing leaves From dark and sacred ground. The village feared the women Who could read the storm and flame, Who knew which roots could quiet pain And called each herb by name. Pre-Chorus No throne had ever sheltered us, No lord had heard us cry. We learned to live beneath the trees Where ravens crossed the sky. Chorus Black Forest daughters, hold the line, Guard the hearth through bitter times. For every field and every child, We faced the crown and winter wild. They called us witches, marked our doors, But still we healed the sick and poor. The fire may take our flesh and name— It cannot make our truth a flame. Verse 2 The wars came marching through the hills, With hunger close behind. The soldiers took the grain and cattle, Leaving ash for us to find. Our fathers fought beneath the banners Of princes, kings, and queens, Not for glory, not for conquest, But for land and winter wheat. They carried steel through foreign valleys, Paid in scars instead of gold, Hoping service to the monarchy Would earn a farm to hold. Pre-Chorus A strip of earth, a wooden house, A well beside the lane— The smallest gift from noble hands Was purchased dearly through their pain. Chorus Black Forest daughters, hold the line, Guard the hearth through bitter times. For every field and every child, We faced the crown and winter wild. They called us witches, marked our doors, But still we healed the sick and poor. The fire may take our flesh and name— It cannot make our truth a flame. Bridge One sister read the stars at night. One carried herbs and thread. One prayed beside the wounded men And comforted the dead. When frightened neighbors named them cursed And judges came with chains, They stood together, hand in hand, Beneath the freezing rain. Their families watched the torches rise, Their children learned the cost: The land was gained through blood and war, While women’s lives were lost. Final Chorus Black Forest spirits, rise again, Through daughters born in every age. The crown may grant a field or name, But love alone survives the flame. For every family built from struggle, Every grave beneath the pine, The forest keeps the sacred oath: What once was yours is also mine. Outro In sixteen hundred, bells were ringing, Smoke was climbing through the trees. Yet beneath the roots, three spirits whispered: We were never what they feared. We were healers. We were sisters. We were free.
