Southern trees
bear a strange fruit
Blood on the leaves and blood at the root
Black bodies swingin' in the Southern breeze
Strange fruit hangin' from the poplar trees
Pastoral scene of the gallant South
The bulgin' eyes and the twisted mouth
Scent of magnolias sweet and fresh
Then the sudden smell of burnin' flesh
Here is a fruit for the crows to pluck
For the rain to gather, for the wind to suck
For the sun to rot, for the tree to drop
Here is a strange and bitter crop
Blood on the leaves and blood at the root
Black bodies swingin' in the Southern breeze
Strange fruit hangin' from the poplar trees
Pastoral scene of the gallant South
The bulgin' eyes and the twisted mouth
Scent of magnolias sweet and fresh
Then the sudden smell of burnin' flesh
Here is a fruit for the crows to pluck
For the rain to gather, for the wind to suck
For the sun to rot, for the tree to drop
Here is a strange and bitter crop
GLOOMY SUNDAY
SUNDAY IS GLOOMY, MY HOURS ARE SLUMBERLESS.
DEAREST, THE SHADOWS I LIVE WITH ARE NUMBERLESS.
LITTLE WHITE FLOWERS WILL NEVER AWAKEN YOU,
NOT WHERE THE BLACK COACH OF SORROW HAS TAKEN YOU.
ANGELS HAVE NO THOUGHTS OF EVER RETURNING YOU,
WOULD THEY BE ANGRY IF I THOUGHT OF JOINING YOU?
GLOOMY IS SUNDAY, IN SHADOWS I SPEND IT ALL.
MY HEART AND I HAVE DECIDED TO END IT ALL.
SOON THERE'LL BE CANDLES,
AND PRAYERS THAT ARE SAD, I KNOW.
LET THEM NOT WEEP,
LET THEM KNOW THAT I'M GLAD TO GO.
DEATH IS NO DREAM, FOR IN DEATH I'M CARESSING YOU,
WITH THE LAST BREATH OF MY SOUL I'LL BE BLESSING YOU.
