The Crane Wife 3
(The Decemberists)
And under the bowsunbelle
I'll hold in the snowy shroud
She had no heart so hardened
All under the bowsunbelle
Each feather it fell from skin
'Till thread bare and she grew thin
How were my eyes so blinded?
Each feather it fell from skin
And I will hang my head, hang my head low
And I will hang my head, hang my head low
Her grey sky with bitter skin
A rain cloud rain on me
All out behind horizon, oh
A grey sky of bitter skin
And I will hang my head, hang my head low
And I will hang my head, hang my head low
No comments:
Post a Comment