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{Bruce Phillips)

On the banks of the river
Where the willows hang down
And the wild birds all warble
With a low moaning sound
Down in some 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
The past I remember
Time cannot erase
The letter you wrote me
Was written in shame
And I know that your conscience
Still echoes my name

The nights are so long
And the sorrow runs deep
And nothing is worse
Than a night without sleep
I walk out alone
And look up at the sky
Too empty to sing
Too lonesome to cry

If the ladies were blackbirds
Or if the ladies were thrushes
I'd lie up all day
In the cold misty marshes
If the ladies were squirrels
With their high bushy tails
I'd fill up my shotgun
With rock salt and nails

recorded by Phillips, Rosalie Sorrels
filename[ ROCKSALT

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