The Crane Wife

And under the boughs, unbowed,
all clothed in a snowy shroud.
She had no heart — so hardened;
all under the boughs, unbowed.

Each feather — it fell from skin,
‘til threadbare, while she grew thin.
How were my eyes so blinded?
Each feather — it fell from skin.

And I will hang my head, hang my head low.
And I will hang my head, hang my head low.
And I will hang my head, hang my head low.

A gray sky, a bitter sting,
a rain cloud, a crane on wing..
All out beyond horizon, 
a gray sky, a bitter sting.

And I will hang my head, hang my head low.
And I will hang my head, hang my head low.
And I will hang my head, hang my head low.
And I will hang my head, hang my head low.
And I will hang my head, hang my head low.
I will hang my head, hang my head low, low, low.

 'The Crane Wife 3' by The Decemberists

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