Gravediggress dig me
A hole I can bury
All of my love in
All of my holy
Old gravediggress
By the dried out brooke
Whose babble turned to gravel
And my company took
I used to watch the butterflies
Pretend that it's spring
When December, can't remember
Not a damn cold thing
Old gravedigger
By the burnt out tree
Who held a hive a murmur
But no more bees
I used to hear the wind
Made speak and sing the leaves
Seems so long I felt
But a shy and tender breeze
Old scarecrow
Wounded at the knee
And most of your stuffing
Hay for a heart
And hay for a brain
If your momma was sweeter
Then you might be sane