| There were no cuckoos, no sycamores
|
| We played about the forest floor
|
| Underneath the silver maples, the balsams, and the sky
|
| We popped the heads off dandelions
|
| Assuming roles from nursery rhymes
|
| Rested on the riverbank and grew up by and by
|
| And grew up by and by
|
| Frail my heart apart
|
| And play me a little «Shady Grove»
|
| Ring the bells of Rhymney
|
| 'Til they ring inside my head forever
|
| Bounce the bow
|
| Rock the gallows
|
| For the hangman’s reel
|
| And wake the devil from his dream
|
| I’m going back to Harlan
|
| I’m going back to Harlan
|
| I’m going back to Harlan
|
| And if you were Willie Moore
|
| And I was Barbara Allen
|
| Or Fair Ellen all sad at the cabin door
|
| A-weeping and a-pining for love
|
| A-weeping and a-pining for love
|
| Frail my heart apart
|
| And play me a little «Shady Grove»
|
| Ring the bells of Rhymney
|
| 'Til they ring inside my head forever
|
| Bounce the bow
|
| Rock the gallows
|
| For the hangman’s reel
|
| And wake the devil from his dream
|
| I’m going back to Harlan
|
| I’m going back to Harlan
|
| I’m going back to Harlan
|
| I’m going back to Harlan
|
| I’m going back to Harlan
|
| I’m going back to Harlan |