| oh where is the raven that I struck down dead and here did lye on the ground-o? I see my true love with a wound so red where her lover’s heart it did pound-o crazy man Michael he wanders I’m told and he talks through the night and the day-o but his eyes they are sane and his speech is plain but he longs to be far away-o |
Michael he whistles the simplest of tunes as he asks of the wild wolves their pardon but his true love has flown into every flower grown and he must be keeper of the garden |
