Rock Salt and Nails
Bruce Utah Phillips
By the banks of the river
Where the willows hang down
The wild birds they warble
With a low moaning sound
Way down in the hollow
Where the river runs cold
It was there I first listened
To the lies that you told
Now I lie on my back
And I see your sweet face
A past I remember
Time can't erase
And letters you wrote me
They were written in shame
And know that your conscience still echoes my name
Now if the ladies were blackbirds
If the ladies were thrushes
Well I'd lie there for hours
In the chilly cold marshes
And if the women were squirrels
With them high bushy tails
Well I'd load up my shotgun
With rock salt and nails
I'd load up my shotgun