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On the banks of the river
where the willows hang down
and the wild birds all warble
with a low moaning sound
Down in the hollow
where the water runs cold
its was there i first listened
to the lies that you told
now i lie on my bed
and i see your sweet face
the past i remember
time can not erase
the letter you wrote me
it was written in shame
and i know that your conscience
still echo's my name
now the nights are so long
lord sorrow runs deep
and nothing is worse
than a night without sleep
i'll walk out alone
and look at the sky
to empty to sing to lonesome to cry
If the ladies were blackbirds
and the ladies were thrushes
I'd lie there for hours
in the chilly cold marshes
If the ladies were squirrel's
with high bushy tails
I'd fill up my shotgun
with rock salt and nails