D A
in the silver morning hollow
G D
trembling and getting old
D A
smelling burnt oil of heaven
G D
about ten years, too big to hold
A G D
she don't get up when I come into the room
A G D
she don't run through the fields anymore
D A
built a fire in the kitchen
G D
made her bed by a stove
D A
took a walk to the graveyard
G D
but she didn't want to go
A G D
she don't worry all them murders of crows
A G D
even though they was always out of reach
A G D
she don't get up when I come into the room
A G D
she don't run through the fields anymore
