Jonathan Low

Jonathan Low
Last born of the clan
First one to be free
Lived inside a house
Beneath the hanging tree
Loved them deadly nights
That chilled him to the bone
Words were cried at night
In unforgiving tones

Blood of his men was gone beneath snow
He picked up his knife and his bow
Killer of Jonathan Low
Violence from without
And anger from within
Crawling through the fields
Informing next of kin
They all turned their backs
But they all knew his name
And if he could return
They'd probably do the same
Blood of his friends was gone beneath snow
For all that I know, he died
Killer of Jonathan Low
The blood of his friends was gone beneath snow
For all that I know, he died
Killer of Jonathan Low