Awry, a sound, the song she sings
Along they go, a-whistling
Up high, around, the bluebirds fly
That faithful day, his kiss, his cry
Into the night the huntswoman will go
With just her quiver and her bow
Awaiting dusk, for there he prowls,
Saliva dripping from his jowls
Roosting in the branches high,
A wingless bird, but there she flies
Her arrow cutting through the leaves,
Amongst his life, the rabbit flees
She crouches low to curse her kill
Now forever he will lay still
The archer recalls two nights before
When this creature came through her door
Never again will she see her love,
Stole by the wingless bird above
And now she sleeps forever more
Hunting the creatures he killed before
Awry, a sound, the song she sang
To see her love, never again