Poor Ellen Smith, how she was found Shot through the heart, lying cold on the ground 
Her clothes were all scattered and thrown on the ground Blood marks the spot where poor Ellen was found 
They picked up her body and carried it away And now she is sleeping in some lonesome old grave 
They picked up their rifles and hunted me down They found me a-loafing in Mount Airy town 
I got a letter yesterday, I read it today The flowers on her grave have all faded away 
Some day I’ll go home and say, when I go On poor Ellen’s grave pretty flowers I’ll sow 
I’ve been in this prison for twenty long years Each night I see Ellen through my bitter tears 
The warden just told me that soon I’ll be free To go to her grave ’neath that old willow tree 
My days in this prison are ending at last I’ll never be free from the sins of my past 
file from: www.traditionalmusic.co.uk 
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