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The Decemberists
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Won't Want for Love (Margaret in the Taiga)
Gentle leaves, gentle leaves
Please array a path for me
The wood's all growing thick and fast around
Columbine, Columbine
Please alert this love of mine
Let him know his Margaret comes along
And all this stirring inside my belly won't quell my want for love
And I may swoon from all this swelling but I won't want for love
Mistle thrush, mistle thrush
Lay me down in the underbrush
My naked feet grow weary with the dusk
Willow boughs, willow boughs
Make a bed to lay me down
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Let your branches bow to cradle us
And all this stirring inside my belly won't quell my want for love
And I may swoon from all this swelling but I won't want for love
Oh my own true love,
Oh my own true love,
Can you hear me love?
Can you hear me love?
And all this stirring inside my belly won't quell my want for love
And I may swoon from all this swelling but I won't want for love
Won't want for love
Won't want for love
I won't want for love
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