08-01-2019, 08:14 PM
[align=center][div style="width: 430px; text-align: justify; font-family: helvetica; font-size: 7pt; color: #000; letter-spacing: 0.6px; line-height: 90%;"][i]Oh, brother dear, let my bed be made
Right here, ripe of the woody nightshade
And it's not by fire, but what's forged in flame
Can drown the sorrows of a huntsman's pain
This young man he died fair soon
By the light of the hunters' moon
'Twas not by bone, nor yet by blade
Of the berries of the woody nightshade
Right here, ripe of the woody nightshade
And it's not by fire, but what's forged in flame
Can drown the sorrows of a huntsman's pain
This young man he died fair soon
By the light of the hunters' moon
'Twas not by bone, nor yet by blade
Of the berries of the woody nightshade