Her little gray hat is over her brow,
And covers a purple bruise.
She had white stockings for her feet
And the holes were in her shoes.
Where did you meet Croak Carless, girl?
And where did you start to booze?
They saw you once at Rigdon’s place,
And last at Sandy Hughes’.
On the night that Jesus Christ was born
You were drinking gin and beer.
They saw you sitting on Carless’ knees
As the midnight hour drew near.
They saw you two start into the night,
And the night was cold and black.
And then they found you there by the bridge
With the green bruise on your back.
Down through the dark to the Shovel Cut
The two of you walked and sang.
You were holding hands on the trestle bridge
When the bell began to clang.
’Twas back of the curve that the head-light shone
So what was the use of eyes?
The mad iron thing leaped on you there
As you ran on the trestle ties.
It rushed on you like a furious bull
That charges a scarlet flag.
The engineer looked long at the gauge
As the fireman scraped the slag.
Croak Carless jumped and fell on a stone
And the world to him was a blank.
But the iron thing struck at your back
And doubled you down on the bank.
Croak Carless woke from a sleep like death
And found you covered with blood.
He slinks to the river to wash his hands,
He runs to hide in the wood.
He steals through thickets, hides in a barn,
He cowers where the corn’s in shock.
But the posse catches Croak by noon,
And the jailer turns the lock.