On a hillside in the meadows
By the old corpse ring of oaks
They lay down there as lovers
But no words of love were spoke
They had drunken all her daddy's wine
Stole her mothers pills
The sun had burned her brittle
She had taken more than her fill

So as she lay there sleeping
He snapped a thick branch from a tree
Took it to her pretty soft head
Spilled her blood onto the green

Dragged her body through the woods
With his bare hands dug a grave
He fell down across the fresh mound
He was too drunk to pray

On a hillside in the meadows
By the old corpse ring of oaks
Are the graves of two young lovers
Of which no more words are spoke

(Violin Interlude)