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The shadows are creepin', across the dirt mound, way down in the bottoms below |
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And the willows are weepin', |
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A sad mournful sound, that says she ain't comin' home |
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And the moon rides high in the cottonwood trees, and the last birds of summer have flown |
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I'm high as a pine up on sycamore ridge, |
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Lonesome and dry as a bone, |
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Lonesome and dry as a bone |
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The springtime came early, along with it rain, and the fever was goin' around |
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It took the hand of my darlin', my prayers were in vain, now she's layin' in the cold, cold ground |
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And the moon rides high in the cottonwood trees, and the last birds of summer have flown |
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I'm high as a pine up on sycamore ridge, |
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Lonesome and dry as a bone, |
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Lonesome and dry as a bone |
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Whoa how I loved her and lost her, but somehow I keep hangin' on, no doubt I'm bound for a lifetime |
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Lonesome and dry as a bone, lonesome and dry as a bone |
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And the moon rides high in the cottonwood trees, and the last birds of summer have flown |
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I'm high as a pine up on sycamore ridge, |
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Lonesome and dry as a bone, |
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Lonesome and dry as a bone |
