I wish, I wish my baby was born
And sitting on its papa's knee
And me, poor girl
And me, poor girl, were dead and gone
And the green grass growing o'er my feet
I ain't ahead, nor never will be
Till the sweet apple grows
On a sour apple tree

But still I hope, But stil I hope the time [bad word] When you and I shall be as one

I wish, I wish my love had died
And sent his soul to wander free
Then we might meet where ravens fly
Let our poor body rest in peace

The owl, the owl
Is a lonely bird
It chills my heart
With dread and terror
That someone's blood
There on his wing
That someone's blood
There on his feather.