The Blackest Crow
Justin Rutledge
The blackest crow that ever flew
Would slowly turn to white
If ever I prove false to you
Bright day would turn to night
Bright day would turn to night
My love, yellow moons would mourn
If ever I prove false to you
The seas would rage and burn
I wish my heart was made of glass
Wherein you might behold
That there your name was wrote
My love, in letters made of bone
There your name was wrote, my love
Believe me when I say that you are the only one for me
Until my dying day