Among the hills of poplar and pine
Kentucky- nineteen and three
There stood a tiny whitewashed church
As our Lord would have it be
There in that valley, lush and green
Where runs the Path of Life
Tall and handsome Willie Monroe
Took fair Alveera for his wife
To a cabin small, on a rocky ridge
In a place both lonesome and wild
Willie did bring his precious bride
Where she'd bear him an imperfect child
Willie set out each day before the dawn
To provide his young family a home
He'd work the fields of burley and corn
And leave lovely Alveera alone
Careful with that axe, Alveera
Its trouble you might not know
In Spring, her days were plantin' and chores
With Eelie on her hip
He never spoke, he wouldn't walk
Just bruised her with his grip
Out past the smokehouse, in early Fall
With heart and fingers hurt
Alveera split the Winter's wood
While Eelie squealed and scratched in the dirt
Then Willie took to returnin' late
And set himself a liar
While Alveera lived with Eelie's screams
And stared into the fire
The days grew shorter, the nights grew long
The leaves commenced to fall
Alveera and Eelie would sit alone
And Willie might not come home at all
Careful with that axe, Alveera
Your slight frame might not manage its weight
As Willie rode home, one cold Fall day
In evenin's fadin' light
There on the ground, near Winter's wood
He saw that dreadful sight
Eelie's body, cold and wet
Bespoke a gruesome fate
While his head lay quiet in his mother's arms
As she crouched by the smokehouse gate
What made you do it, Alveera
What made you kill Little Eelie this way
She'd draw a breath, and "Trouble, trouble, trouble"
Was all that Alveera would say
Careful with that axe, Alveera
It may be sharper than you think
Fish~
