Townes Van ZandtOur Mother The Mountain

By townes van zandt My lover comes to me with a rose on her bosom The moon's dancin' purple All through her black hair And a ladies-in-waiting she stands 'neath my window And the sun will rise soon On the false and the fair She tells me she comes from my mother the mountain Her skin fits her tightly And her lips do not lie She silently slips from her throat a medallion Slowly she twirls it In front of my eyes I watch her, I love her, I long for to touch her The satin she's wearin' Is shimmering blue Outside my window her ladies are sleeping My dogs have gone hunting The howling is through So I reach for her hand and her eyes turns to poison And her hair turns to splinters, And her flesh turns to brine She leaps cross the room, she stands in the window And screams that my first-born Will surely be blind She throws herself out to the black of the nightfall She's parted her lips But she makes not a sound I fly down the stairway, and I run to the garden No trace of my true love Is there to be found So walk these hills lightly, and watch who you're lovin' By mother the mountain I swear that it's true Love not a woman with hair black as midnight And her dress made of satin All shimmering blue © 2018