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