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The Decemberists
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The Crane Wife, Pt. 3
And under the boughs unbowed
All clothed in a snowy shroud
She had no heart so hardened
All under the boughs unbowed
Each feather, it fell from skin
Till threadbare as she grew thin
How were my eyes so blinded?
Each feather, it fell from skin
And I will hang my head, hang my head low
And I will hang my head, hang my head low
A gray sky, a bitter sting
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A rain cloud, a crane on wing
All out beyond horizon
A gray sky, a bitter sting
And I will hang my head, hang my head low
And I will hang my head, hang my head low
And I will hang my head, hang my head low
And I will hang my head, hang my head low
And I will hang my head, hang my head low
And I will hang my head, hang my head low, low, low
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