in the silver morning hollow
|
trembling and getting old
|
smelling burnt oil of heaven
|
about ten years, too big to hold
|
|
she don't get up when I come into the room
|
she don't run through the fields anymore
|
|
built a fire in the kitchen
|
made her bed by a stove
|
took a walk to the graveyard
|
but she didn't want to go
|
|
she don't worry all them murders of crows
|
even though they was always out of reach
|
|
she don't get up when I come into the room
|
she don't run through the fields anymore
|
|
-----------------
|
Morning Hollow
|
| Sparklehorse |
