Pretty Polly, please come on down
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From your home home high up off the ground
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In the tree dark and forlorn
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Where the rope hangs bruised and worn
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Though I'll never fly to you
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It's the last thing I would do
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You have dug two holes so deep
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I'm afraid that one's for me
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Pretty Polly must I cry
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Without your voice I'll fear I'd die
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The song you sing and the story you tell
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We must keep them to ourselves
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Oh I know my voice like nightingale
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Now I have my brand new tale
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Of a tree dark and forlorn
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Where a rope hang bruised and worn
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Petty Polly, I have bread
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That I have not eaten yet
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Come and take them from my thalls
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Then we'll lay your song to rest
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I suppose my song can wait
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For I am hungry and grows late
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I will eat your bread and then
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I will sing my song a-gain
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Pretty Polly, I had no choice
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Stop your heart and steal your voice
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One more little body so still
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One more little hole to fill
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Pretty Polly
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| Josh Ritter |
