William Elliott Whitmore - Dry Ukulele

intro: F

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Well the song of the blackbird is mighty clear

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On a mornin' such as this

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And all those useless pains & fears

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Those things that i won't miss

And the Morning Glories and Queen Anne's lace
Baptized by the wind
These inspirations are my saving grace
In these times we're living in

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Make a hard man humble
Make a proud woman hide
Her eyes from the light of day
When all the crops have withered and died
And the soil has blown away

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The ground is so dry

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The river's on its hands and knees

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And i hear that tune in the breeze

The crow is callin' and i hear him well
Up in the red bud tree
Any the stories that you've lived to tell
Pass 'em down to me

Whisper the truth
Into your childrens ears
Let them know
Let them understand
Let them hear

The song of the blackbird is mighty loud
Through the evening mist
The moon is up and it looks so proud
Lookin' down on a night, on a night like this