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St. John the Gambler
par
Townes Van Zandt
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When she had twenty years well she turned to her mother Saying mother, I know that you'll grieve But I've given my soul to St. John the gambler Tomorrow comes time to leave For the hills cannot hold back my sorrow forever And dead men lie deep 'round the door Oh the only salvation that's mine for the asking So mother, think on me no more And winter held high 'round the mountains breast And the cold of a thousand snows Lay heaped upon the forest lea But she dressed in calico For a gambler likes his women fancy Fancy she would be And the fire of her longing would keep 'way the cold And her dress was a sight to see But the road was long beneath her feet She followed her frozen breath In search of a certain St. John the gambler Stumbling to her death
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