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Poor Ellen Smith, how was she found |
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Shot through the heart lying cold on the ground |
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Her body was mangled, and all cast around |
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A blood marks the spot where poor Ellen was found |
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They picked up her body, and carried it away |
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Now she's a-sleepin' in some lonesome grave |
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Who had the heart, and who had the brain |
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To shoot my little darling on that cold lonesome plain |
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They picked up their rifles, and hunted us down |
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They found us a loafin' all around town |
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The judge my convict me, and God knows he can |
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But I know I died as an innocent man |
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I've been in this prison for seven long years |
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Each night I see Ellen through my bitter tears |
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I got a letter yesterday I read it today |
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The flowers on her grave have all faded away |
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The warden just told me that soon I'll be free |
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To go to her grave 'neath that old willow tree |
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I'm free from the walls of that prison, at last |
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But I'll never be free from my sins of the past |
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Poor Ellen Smith, how was she found |
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Shot through the heart lying cold on the ground |
