.When the moon carves a trail down the pine-bearded hills
And a ghost-wind hollers to the early morn
And the starlings return to the old sugar mill
Stealing their corn from the grower's field
Oh, I'll be no more
When we've covered our hands in the bone-white clay<.>
Have you been looking for lyrics of your favorite song, too long? Lyrics has got them all listed out for you by your favorite songwriters, artists neatly arranged by albums you love. Simply,Choose an album, artist or lyricist and start discovering lyrics of your favorite songs.
Allow To View All Exclusive Content & Notifications 🔔