Rock, Salt and Nails
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 waters run cold
It was there I first listened
To the lies that you told
Now I lay on my bed
And I see your sweet face
The past I remeber
Time cannot erase
The letter you wrote me
It was written in shame
And I know that your conscience
Still echoes my name
The nights are so long
And sorrow runs deep
And nothing is worse
Than a night with out sleep
I'll 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 a high bushy tail
I'd fill up my shotgun
With rock salt and nails
Writer/s: BRUCE PHILLIPS