Her monsters, they come out at night
She tries not to fill her eyes with fright
Tugging under the pillow
Trying not to let the darkness make her feel low ...
Because I am mad about women
I am mad about the hills,'
Said that wild old wicked man
Who travels where God wills.
'Not to die on the straw at home.
Those hands to close these eyes,
That is all I ask, my dear,
From the old man in the skies.
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