Poor Ellen Smith - David Rawlings, Gillian Welch

Poor Ellen Smith, how was she found?

Shot through the heart, lying cold on the ground

Her curves were all matted, her clothes scattered around

Blood marked the spot where old Ellen was found

They picked up her body and off they did go

To the lonesome graveyard, I’ll see her no more

They picked up their rifles, running me down

They caught me loafing in my old town

They sent me to prison for twenty long years

At night, I see Ellen and cry bitter tears

The warden just told me that soon I’d be free

To visit her grave under that old willow tree

I’m going to Winston, I’ll stay there a year

It’s often I think of sweet Ellen so dear

Poor Ellen Smith, how was she found?

Shot through the heart, lying cold on the ground