| A lurking street urchin by the day
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| Whose conning ways offer a lowly wage
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| So when night falls to the church I turn, to see what treasures I can earn
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| I take my shovel and I take my sack, to see what I can bring me back
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| I rob gold & silver & amber & pearls from your dear beloveds that have left
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| this world
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| I see your face — and then it’s gone without trace
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| I feel I’m losing my sight — haunting life day and night
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| Raven red hair — I have to stop here and stare
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| Your piercing eyes black and cold — the devil’s broken the mould
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| My lamplight casts upon the grave, of magaret erskine
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| A disease ridden dame
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| Friday night she died and was buried in the morn
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| Enriched in jewels, wrapped in fine coths
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| From the earth she comes again
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| Punishing the sins of all men
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| Taking life like taking breath
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| A tortured soul lives on in death
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| I see your face — and then it’s gone without trace
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| I feel I’m losing my sight — haunting life day and night
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| Raven red hair — I have to stop here and stare
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| Your piercing eyes black and cold — the devil’s broken the mould
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| I want that ring I must not linger
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| I can get it off the dead wenchs finger
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| I need to take it to the nearest inn
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| And swap it for a pint of gin
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| A very grave business, no man should witness
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| She walked in the bar all pale and white, it gave me such a massive fright
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| She looked all dead and did quite stink it almost made me drop my drink
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| Excuse me sir but that’s my ring, and now my hand it don’t half sting
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| So the moral now the story’s read, don’t steal bling from off the dead |