Down by a river where willows hang down
And wild birds warble with a mournful sound
Down in some hollow where waters run cold
Was there I first listened to the lies she told
Now I lie on my bed and I see her sweet face
The past I remember time cannot erase
The letters she wrote were written in shame
And I know that her conscience still echos my name
And the nights are so long, and sorrow runs deep
And nothing is worse than a night without sleep
Though I walk out alone, and I look at the sky
Too lonesome to sing, too empty to cry
If the ladies was blackbirds, and the ladies was thrushes
I would lie there for hours in the chilly, cold marshes
If the ladies was squirrels with high bushy tails
I would fill up my shotgun with rock salt and nails
