And still of a winter's night, they say, when the wind is in the trees When the moon is a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas When the road is a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor A highwayman comes riding— Riding—riding— A highwayman comes riding, up to the old inn-door
Over the cobbles he clatters and clangs in the dark inn-yard He taps with his whip on the shutters, but all is locked and barred He whistles a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there But the landlord's black-eyed daughter Bess, the landlord's daughter Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hairTeksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
