| The shadows are creepin', across the dirt mound, way down in the bottoms below
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| And the willows are weepin'
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| A sad mournful sound, that says she ain’t comin' home
|
| And the moon rides high in the cottonwood trees, and the last birds of summer
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| have flown
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| I’m high as a pine up on sycamore ridge
|
| Lonesome and dry as a bone
|
| Lonesome and dry as a bone
|
| The springtime came early, along with it rain, and the fever was goin' around
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| It took the hand of my darlin', my prayers were in vain, now she’s layin' in
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| the cold, cold ground
|
| And the moon rides high in the cottonwood trees, and the last birds of summer
|
| have flown
|
| I’m high as a pine up on sycamore ridge
|
| Lonesome and dry as a bone
|
| Lonesome and dry as a bone
|
| Whoa how I loved her and lost her, but somehow I keep hangin' on,
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| no doubt I’m bound for a lifetime
|
| Lonesome and dry as a bone, lonesome and dry as a bone
|
| And the moon rides high in the cottonwood trees, and the last birds of summer
|
| have flown
|
| I’m high as a pine up on sycamore ridge
|
| Lonesome and dry as a bone
|
| Lonesome and dry as a bone |