| Morning Hollow |
|---|
| In the silver morning hollow |
| Trembling and getting old |
| Smelling burnt oil of heaven |
| About ten years, too big to hold |
| She don’t get up when I come into the room |
| She don’t run through the fields anymore |
| Built a fire in the kitchen |
| Made her bed by a stove |
| Took a walk to the graveyard |
| But she didn’t want to go |
| She don’t worry all them murders of crows |
| Even though they was always out of reach |
| She don’t get up when I come into the room |
| She don’t run through the fields anymore |
