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
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 Violence from without
 And anger from within
 Crawling through the fields
 Informing next to kin
 They all turned their backs
 But they all knew his name
 And if he could return
 They'd probably do the same
 Blood of his friends
 Was gone beneath snow
 For all that I know, he died
 Killer of Jonathan Low
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 The blood of his friends
 Was gone beneath snow
 For all that I know, he died
 Killer of Jonathan Low