A woman is a branchy tree,
A man a singing wind, wind;
And from your branches carelessly
He'll take what he can find, find,
He'll take what he can find...

Get home to your father's garden
Where you may weep your fill
And think on your own misfortunes
Brought on by your wanton will

The King looked o'er his left shoulder
And a grim look looked he;
"An 'twere not for my oath, Earl Marshall," he cried,
"Hanged you should be!"

And he took her by her lily-white hand
And he led her away to the hall
And he cut off her head from her neckbone
And kicked it against the wall!

The Brown Girl she was standing by
With knives both keen and sharp
Between the long ribs and the short
She pierced fair Eleanor's heart

"Oh never will I forget, forgive,
As long as I have breath.
I'll dance upon your green green grave
Where you do lie beneath."

And so on and so on and so on...

Aaaahhh ~~ say what you will: they just don't write 'em like that any more...

~Michael~