Young man came from hunting faint and weary. What does ail my lord,my dearie?Oh brother dear , let my bed be made. For I feel the gripe of the woody nightshade. This young man, he died fair soon. By the light of the hunters' moon. Thus was not by bone nor yet by blade. Oh the berries of the woody nightshade.oh father dear, lie heavy safe. From the power that the devil made.
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