[Intro — sharp female folk call; one struck string] Ой, водо, темна водо! [Immediate entrance — racing fiddle, hammered strings, heavy drums] [Verse 1 — low, clear female voice] The path ran cold beneath the firs; The village bells grew thin behind. Three women stood beyond the reeds Where there had never been dry land. They sang a tune my mother knew; Before I thought, I sang it too. [Pre-Chorus — voices gathering; guitars rising] They raised their hands. The branches bowed. The moon went missing in the clouds. Across the black, a hand reached out— I took it as the thunder sounded. [Chorus — fierce, melodic; female harmonies] At the witches’ lakes, We sink the moon and raise the storm. At the witches’ lakes, We leave no footprints coming home. Hand in hand, the circle wakes— We belong to the witches’ lakes! [Verse 2 — driving folk rhythm; darker delivery] Their hands were warm. Their hems were dry. The water held the broken sky. They taught me how to knot the rain And call it down on thirsty grain. I turned away. My likeness stayed, Still singing underneath the lake. [Pre-Chorus — instruments thinning] I touched my mouth. She touched hers too. Then sang a line I never knew. The women smiled and drew me near: “Every gift leaves something here.” [Chorus — full band; pounding dance rhythm] At the witches’ lakes, We sink the moon and raise the storm. At the witches’ lakes, We leave no footprints coming home. Hand in hand, the circle wakes— We belong to the witches’ lakes! [Bridge — solo voice and bandura; women answer softly] One voice for the bread I knead. One voice for the hungry deep. One to sing beside the fire. One the water gets to keep. [Female ensemble — growing stronger] Ой, водо, темна водо! Ой, водо, темна водо! [Short instrumental break — fiddle and tsymbaly trading phrases] [Final Chorus — soaring lead; wild female folk harmonies] At the witches’ lakes, We sink the moon and raise the storm. At the witches’ lakes, We leave no footprints coming home. Let the morning find my face— It cannot take that other place. Hand in hand, the circle wakes— We belong to the witches’ lakes! [Outro — sudden drop to voice and plucked strings] At home, I close the shutters tight. Below the lake, I sing all night. [One final hammered-string note rings out.]
