John Wetton

The Hanging Tree

John Wetton


Out in the wood
Where the autumn leaves
Lie listless in the wind
On a granite tor
The deserted moor
Where the gallows stand

And the tears that fell from your face
Cursed the ground of this place
By the hanging tree

And I wish I could be free
From the shadows dancing over me
Maybe I could see
Through the darkness to appoint of light
My eyes will be opened tonight
By the hanging tree

Seasons come
And seasons go
But there are no leaves to show

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