The Hangman's Elm

The blood of lover’s is spilt in the glade
With me they’ll spend the rest of their days
As they rest their bones beneath my shade
They’re on their way to an early grave

And you know
They’re cutting it down
That old hangman’s elm

And as they draw the raven’s breath
They’ll feel the sting of my rope on their necks
This tree was born of the shadows
It grew up to be my gallows

And you know
They’re cutting it down
That old hangman’s elm

We never knew just by planting the seeds
That we’d claim our souls on it’s bows and leaves
We’d carve our names and our “meant to be’s”
On that old hangman’s tree

And you know
They’re cutting it down
That old hangman’s elm