Rock Salt And Nails

Bruce Phillips

  Basement tapes - march/may 1967  

On the banks of the river
Where the willows hang down
Where the wild birds all warble
With a low moaning sound
Down in the hollow
Where the water runs cold
It's there i have listened
To the lies that you told.

Now i lie on my bed
An' 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
Still echoes my pain.

Now the nights are so long
My sorrow runs deep
Nothing is worse than
A night without sleep
I walk out alone
I look at the sky
Too empty to sing
Too lonesome to cry.

Now if the ladies were blackbirds
And the ladies were thrushes
I'd lie there for hours
In the chilly cold marshes
If the ladies were squirrels
With them high bushy tails
I'd fill up my shotgun
With rock, salt and nails.