[Fm] [Fm] [Cm] [Fm]
On the banks of the [Fm] river, where the willows hang [Fm] down,
Where the wild birds all [F#m] warble with a low moaning [Fm] sound,
Down in the [F#m] hollow where the water runs [Fm] cold,
It's there I have [Cm] listened to the lies that you [Fm] told.
Now I lie on my [Fm] bed and I see your sweet [Fm] face.
The past I re[F#m]member, time cannot e[Fm]rase.
The letters you [F#m] wrote me were written in [Fm] shame,
And I know that your [Cm] conscience still echos my [Fm] pain.
Now the nights are so [Fm] long, my sorrow runs [Fm] deep.
Nothing is [F#m] worse than a night without [Fm] sleep.
I walk out a[F#m]lone, I look at the [Fm] sky,
Too empty to [Cm] sing, too lonesome to [Fm] cry.
Now if the ladies were [Fm] blackbirds and the ladies were [Fm] thrushes,
I'd lie there for [F#m] hours in the chilly cold [F#m] marshes.
If the ladies were [F#m] squirrels with them high bushy [Fm] tails,
I'd fill up my [Cm] shotgun with rock salt and [Fm] nails.
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