Jonathan Low

Last born of the clan First one to be free Lived inside a house Beneath the hanging tree Loved them deadly nights That chilled him to the bone Words were cried at night In unforgiving tones Blood of his men was gone beneath snow He picked up his knife and his bow Killer of Jonathan Low Violence from without And anger from within Crawling through the fields Informing next of kin They all turned their backs But they all knew his name And if he could return They'd probably do the same The blood of his friends was gone beneath snow For all that I know, he died Killer of Jonathan Low The blood of his friends was gone beneath snow For all that I know, he died Killer of Jonathan Low