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Poor Ellen Smith
por
David Rawlings
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Poor Ellen Smith, how was she found? Shot through the heart, lying cold on the ground Her curves were all matted, her clothes scattered around Blood marked the spot where old Ellen was found They picked up her body and off they did go To the lonesome graveyard, I'll see her no more They picked up their rifles, running me down They caught me loafing in my old town They sent me to prison for twenty long years At night, I see Ellen and cry bitter tears The warden just told me that soon I'd be free To visit her grave under that old willow tree I'm going to Winston, I'll stay there a year It's often I think of sweet Ellen so dear Poor Ellen Smith, how was she found? Shot through the heart, lying cold on the ground
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