I have myself a silver blade, the edge is sharp,
the handle bone, little thing of silver made.
Now it's the only thing I own.
Once I knew Lordling fine,
I heard him whistle as he rode,
I was bold enough to call him
mine.
Shoes upon his horse were gold,
shoes were gold.
I looked into his eyes and he bid me climb onto his horse.
He asked if I'd his lady be and come away forevermore.
He spoke of love,
songs in each kiss,
and I who was a young girl then was promised every
young girl's bliss,
got up and rode away with him,
away with him.
He took me to his castle
tall with promises and jewels until
he led me through his castle hall,
then took my clothes
and worked his will.
And when he had and I lay there for my head with a silver blade,
cut a lock of cold black hair and bid me dress and go my way,
go my way.
Oh,
well,
I marked the silver blade and where he set it,
when he did and when his back was turned,
I laid it buried deep beneath his ribs.
I used my dagger as a spade where the thorns and the lilacs grow,
cut the ground into a grave in a place that even God don't know.
And every evening I returned to the place for
him I chose till his skin had turned to worms,
wild dogs scattered around his bones.
And
all I have of what I was is the memory
of a maid who mistook a thief for love,
but
who gained a silver blade, silver blade.