![Goth Is What You Make It [Three]](/tmp/thumbnails/90335829ac70e042a886f1782e25219a.webp "Goth Is What You Make It [Three]")
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Lay me down low
Where the wind won't blow
My old bones in the cottonwood tree
Well, the cold wind blows
And there's a pair of old crows
Pickin' at my bones in the cottonwood tree
Lay my hands upon my breast
And my hat upon my chest
Lay me down where the bluebells grow
Underneath the starry skies
Lay them coins upon my eyes
Send me off to where the wicked men go
Well, the truth is in a gun
I ain't sorry for what I've done
In the end, it's all the same to me
Now this singin' wind she moans
And she makes these lonesome bones
Go a-dancin' in the cottonwood tree
Lay me down low
Where the wind won't blow
My old bones in the cottonwood tree
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