Sing high, sing cold.
A carrion crow sat upon a dead oak.
Sing high, sing cold. It sang about an arrow's mark and terrible woe.
A man took offense to the song so bitter and cold.
"Don't you know that I walk upon the highest road?"
Go fetch me my old bent bow.
So I may shoot you, carrion crow.
Sing high, sing cold.
The man took aim with his old bent bow.
The man shot and missed his mark.
Shot his own wife through the heart.
Carrion crow sat upon dead oak.
Singing high, singing cold.
Beneath my feet you may go,
and soon you won't walk alone.
You won't walk alone.
Beneath my feet you may go,
and soon you won't walk alone.
The bells did ring, the bells did toll.