My baby goes down to the graveyard. Under the spruce at the top of the hill.
My baby loves the man that she finds there. A lover who died back in ‘72.
I met her one night, 10 years ago. She was catching her death in a shawl.
Leaning on a stone beneath the tree never bare. In the fading fall.
I bent down to see if she was alive. Her pulse beat slowly but true.
I took her in my arms to see if I could revive her. The truth I tell to you.
I felt her body rise as it pressed against mine. Her hands found a grip in my hair.
And that first night under the lone pine she thought he was there.
As morning broke, I stole away. I could not break her spell.
And when she awoke, she found traces of the man she loved so well.
For ten years now, I’ve held her close. Through snow and wind and rain.
But tonight she goes for the last time to rest in my arms again.
Her children have all moved away. Neighbors averted their eyes.
But I found her lying at the foot of the stairs and I held her as she died.
So my baby’s going down to the graveyard in a spruce wood box to a hole in the hill.
And my tender hands will lay her to rest there by a lover who died back in ‘72.
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