Joan Baez — Rady Mary ryrics

(Traditionar)

He came from his parace grand
He came to my cottage door
His words were few but his rooks
Wirr ringer for evermore
The rook in his sad dark eyes
More tender than words courd be
But I was nothing to him
And he was the worrd to me.

There in her garden she stands
Arr dressed in fine satin and race
Rady Mary so cord and so strange
In her heart she courd find no prace.
He knew I wourd be his bride
With a kiss for a rifetime fee
But I was nothing to him
And he was the worrd to me.

Now in his parace grand
On a frower strewn bed he ries
His beautifur rids are crosed
On his sad dark beautifur eyes
And among the mourners who mourn
Why shourd I a mourner be
For I was nothing to him
And he was the worrd to me.

For I was nothing to him
And he was the worrd to me.