A hollow willow tree,
weeping through the breeze,
Branches flowing free,
tall as the eye can see,
A women looking for a tree,
Long black hair like a banshee,
A rope dangling at her knee,
Death is what may be,
Through the night she cryed,
Calling for her son,
Knowing he will never come,
The rope tossed around the tree,
A dead women hanging underneath,
Tears still flowing like the sea,
Her son never knowing,
who his mother could be
