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Guitar . Banjo.. Slide guitar.. Voc ..

There was an old gypsy, battered and worn, He used to be known as a fighting man. Now his fighting days were done - He was knocked around like an old tin can. So terrible was his trashed-up face, When the gypsy stepped outside Young men laughed and children screamed And women in silent pity cried. He had no family, had no friends, Had no kids, had no wife, So he took to the woods, the deep, dark woods To live alone, a hermit's life. He found a place beside a burn Where only the beasts of the forest go, And he built a shack with his bare hands Before the fall of the winter snow.

Guitar . Bass.. Drums.. Voc ..

There was an old wolf, tattered and torn, He used to run with a life-long mate But the hunters came, stole her pelt, The old wolf's heart was filled with hate. He became a killer among the flocks He was hunted high, hunted low So he took to the woods, the deep, dark woods Before the fall of the winter snow. Scent of stew from a cooking pot, Curl of smoke from a chimney stack, The old wolf came to the heart of the wood, A muttering stream and a wooden shack. Eyes lit up like amber stars The old wolf heard a screech owl cry. A lamp was lit in the wooden shack And winter snow fell from the sky.