By the banks of the river, where the willows hang down,
And the wild birds a'warble with a low moaning sound,
Down in the hollow where the water runs cold,
It was there I first listened, to the lies that you told

Now I lie on my bed and I see your sweet face
And the past I remember, time can't erase
The letter you wrote me, it was written in shame,
And I know that your conscience still echos my name

Now the nights are so lonely, Lord sorrow runs deep
But nothing is worse than these nights without sleep
I walk out alone and look at the sky,
Too empty to sing, too 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 squirrels with them high bushy tails,
I'd fill up my shotgun with rock salt and nails
I'd fill up my shotgun with rock salt and nails

Copyright: MUSIC MANAGEMENT
Writer(s): Bruce Utah Phillips