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Josienne Clarke & Ben Walker
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The Month of January
It was in the month of January
the hills all clad with snow
it was over hills and valley
my true love he did go
It was then I met a pretty young girl
with a salt tear in her eye
She had a baby in her arms
and bitter she did cry
Oh, cruel was my father that he barred the door to me
and cruel was my mother
the dreadful crime to see
and cruel was my own true love
that he changed his mind for gold
But cruelest was the winter's night
that pierced my heart with cold
For the taller that the palm tree grows
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the sweeter is the bark
and the fairer that a young man speaks
The falser is his heart
For he'll kiss you and embrace you til he thinks he has you won.
Then he'll go away and leave you
all for some other one.
So come all ye pretty maids
a warning take by me
Never try to build your nest at the top of a high tree.
For the green leaves they will wither
and the branches all decay
and the beauty of a young man
it soon will fade away.
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