The Crane Wife 3 - The Decemberists

And under the bowsunbelle

I’ll hold in the snowy shroud

She had no heart so hardened

All under the bowsunbelle

Each feather it fell from skin

'Till thread bare and she grew thin

How were my eyes so blinded?

Each feather it fell from skin

And I will hang my head, hang my head low

And I will hang my head, hang my head low

Her grey sky with bitter skin

A rain cloud rain on me All out behind horizon, oh A grey sky of bitter skin

And I will hang my head, hang my head low

And I will hang my head, hang my head low