The Girl from Fedamore

The boys go pale and poor for the girl from Fedamore
They'll jump and jive and whistle but their calls she'll all ignore

She's five foot two and sharp as knives
And used but one of eight of her lives

Now I'll tell you something it's been said before
With dirt on my hands and blood on my floor
There's no one quite like her in Fedamore

Skin of ash and hair of fern
Hollowed eyes and lips that burn

Annie's last hours have trickled away
Sitting in silence with nothing to say
Smiling she knows she'll be back before long
Jigging and dancing and singing her songs

Pale-eyed and beaten and wearing her crown
Annie moves on
To her next little town



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