don't the river look lovely rolling all across the stones
don't your baby look pretty, hair flowing across her collar bones
and didn't the river get wild swollen up fat with rain
and didn't your baby get wild with that evil in her brain
don't the world get lonely nothing high but half the moon
and don't house get lonesome, half of the stuff gone from the room
all the birds are crying i think they're trying to tell me to go
i hear you birds, going back down south you know
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