Rock, Salt and Nails (Live, Los Angeles, CA 1977-1979)

By the banks of the river

Where the willows hang down

And the wild birds all warble

With their high, lonesome sound

Down in some hollow

Where the waters run cold

It was there I first listened

To the lies that you told.

If the young men were blackbirds

The young men were thrushes

I would lay by the hours

In the cold rainy marshes

If the young men were squirrels

With high bushy tails

I'd fill up my shotgun

With rock salt and nails.

Now I lie in my bed

And I see your sweet face

The past I remember time cannot erase

The letters you wrote me

Were written in shame

And I know that your conscience

Echoes my name.

Lord I lie here each night

All alone and I weep

Nothing ain't worse

Than a night without sleep

I walk out alone under the sky

Too empty to sing too lonesome to cry

If the ladies were blackbirds

And the young men were thrushes

I'd lie there for hours

In the cold, rainy marshes

If the ladies were squirrels

With high bushy tails

I'd fill up my shotgun

With rock salt and nails

I'd fill up my shotgun

With rock salt and nails