| There’s a land of fog and shadow way down below
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| Where every door is sinking 'neath cold white snow
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| And the lake is frozen over, nothing never grows
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| Where the wind weeps Eleanor, 'tis there I go
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| I stole a Foster rifle and a fist of shells
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| Fashioned me a snowshoe when the wagons fell
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| Then drank a fit of courage down the broken path to Hell
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| Where the wind weeps Eleanor, 'tis there I go
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| The belly of the mountain is cruel and long
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| With a banjo on my shoulder, I carried on
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| To beseech the Devil’s mercy with a mortal song
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| Where the wind weeps Eleanor, 'tis there I go
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| I found him in a cabin at the serpent’s tail
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| Where brides of lovesick travelers fill a winter jail
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| There I sang my words so sweetly that the Devil did wail
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| Where the wind weeps Eleanor, 'tis there I go
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| «Look not behind thee, laddie,» he bellowed twice
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| «Look not behind thee, laddie, there be a price,»
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| But I turned to bear her witness and she turned to ice
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| Where the wind weeps Eleanor, 'tis there I go
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| He broke her into pieces as he waved his claw
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| She fell upon his kettle and began to thaw
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| Not a devil there before me, but a man I saw
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| Where the wind weeps Eleanor, 'tis there I go
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| I carved a Foster bullet with the Mark of Cain
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| I lifted up my rifle, but the Devil ran
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| In the land that God abandoned, murder be my name
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| Where the wind weeps Eleanor, 'tis there I go
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| Where the wind weeps Eleanor, 'tis there I go |