Standard (EADGBE)

 Did the wine make her dream

 Of the far distant spring

 Or a bed full of hens

 Or the ghost of a friend

 All the while that she wept

 She had a gun by her bed

 And a letter he wrote

 From a dry, foundered boat

 And the train track will take

 All the wounded ones home

 And I’ll be alone

 Fare thee well Sara Jones

 Now we lie on the floor

 While the radio war

 Finds its way through the air

 Of the dead market square

 And the beast never seen

 Licks it’s red talons clean

 Sara curses the cold

 "No more snow, no more snow, no more snow"