rock, salt and nails

Bob Dylan

On the banks of the river, where the willows hang down
Where the wild birds all warble with a low moaning sound
Down in the hollow where the water runs cold
It's there I have listened to the lies that you told

Now I lie on my bed and I see your sweet face
The past I remember, time cannot erase
The letters you wrote me were written in shame
And I know that your conscience still echos my pain

Now the nights are so long, my sorrow runs deep
Nothing is worse than a night without sleep
I walk out alone, I look at the sky
Too empty to sing, too lonesome to cry

Now if the ladies were blackbirds and the ladies were thrushes
I'd lie there for hours in the chilly cold marshes
If the ladies were squirrels with them high bushy tails
I'd fill up my shotgun with rock, salt and nails