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< Dirk Powell
< Tim O'Brien
< John Herrmann
The Blackest Crow
Dirk Powell, Tim O'Brien, John Herrmann

As time draws near my dearest dear
When you and I must part
How little you know of the grief and woe
In my poor and my poor aching heart
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Tis' but I suffer for your sake
Believe me dear it's true
I wish that you were staying here
Or I was going with you
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I wish my breast were made of
Glass wherein you might behold
Upon my heart your name lies
Wrote in letters made of gold
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In letters made of gold my love
Believe me when I say
You are the one that
I will adore until my dying day
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[Instrumental]
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The blackest crow that ever flew
Would surely turn to white
If ever I prove false to you
Bright day will turn to night
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Bright day will turn to night my love
The elements will mourn
If ever I prove false to you
The seas will rage and burn




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