text: In the silver morning hollow
  Trembling and getting old
  Smelling burnt oil of heaven
  About ten years, too big to hold
  She dont get up when I come into the room
  She dont run through the fields anymore
  Built a fire in the kitchen
  Made her bed by a stove
  Took a walk to the graveyard
  But she didnt want to go
  She dont worry all them murders of crows
  Even though they was always out of reach
  She dont get up when I come into the room
  She dont run through the fields anymore