And under the boughs unbowed
All clothed in the snowy shroud
She had no heart so hardened
All under the boughs unbowed
Each feather, it fell from skin
'Til thread bare while 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
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...
-The Decemberists
5 comments:
You aren't going to commit suicide are you? It's not worth it!
Oh no! We've regressed back to these kinds of posts again. Time for an intervention.
Man I was thinking the same thing Shane. Cort, head over to his house right now and make sure to remove anything sharp or pointed. And lets just hope we're not too late.
Although, I must admit the picture in this blog entry is pretty sweet.
The picture looks like Jared's back yard in the middle of July.
we need to go golfing!
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