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Witchery Art: A Gothic Cabinet of Curiosities and Mysteries

Witchery Art: A Gothic Cabinet of Curiosities and Mysteries

A collection of gothic horror stories, urban legends, ghosts, haunted houses & other curiosities

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Barbara Allen’s Cruelty

Journal, Love Was The Cause Of My Sorrow: Traditional Folk Songs From The American River Valleys / February 28, 2019 by Todd Atteberry

An old English song, an old American song. The song has haunted me since I was kid, falling in love with the melody. It was used extensively in the soundtrack to Scrooge, the good version with Alstair Sim.

Our version is a bit different. Just what the hell did young William do to piss off Barbara Allen so? She obviously loved him … she dies out of guilt after all? It comes perilously close to domestic violence here, but in the end it’s not necessary. They both die of broken hearts.

Barbara Allen

All in the merry month of May
When the green buds they were swellin’
Young William Green on his death bed lay
For the love of Barbara Allen

He sent his servant to the town
To the place where she was dwellin’
Saying “Master’s sick and he send for you,
If your name be Barbara Allen.”

So slowly, slowly she got up
And slowly she came a’ nigh him
And all she said when she got there
Young man I believe you’re dyin’

Oh yes I’m low, I’m fucking low
And death is on me dwellin’
No better, no better I never will be
If I can’t get Barbara Allen

Oh yes you’re low, you’re fucking low
And death is on you dwellin’
No better, no better you’ll never be
For you can’t get Barbara Allen

For don’t you remember in yonder stand
In yonder stand a’ drinkin’
You passed your glass all around and around
And you slighted Barbara Allen

Oh yes I remember in yonder stand
In yonder stand a drinkin’
I gave my health to the ladies all around
But not to Barbara Allen

He turned his pale face to the wall
For death was on him dwellin’
Adieu, adieu, you good neighbors all
Adieu sweet Barbara Allen

As she was goin’ across the fields
She heard those death bells a’ knellin’
And ev’ry stroke the death bell give
Hard-hearted Barbara Allen

Oh Mother, oh Mother, go make my bed
Go make it both long and narrow
Young William’s died for me today
And I’ll die for him tomorrow

Oh she was buried ‘neath the old church tower
And he was buried all nigh her
And out of his bosom grew a red, red rose
Out of Barbara’s grew a green briar

They grew and they grew up the old church tower
Until they could grow no higher
They locked in tight in a true lover’s not
Red rose around the green briar

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About the author and artist

The haunted, macabre, the downright peculiar ….the curiously gothic world of Todd Atteberry

 

Gothic horror stories, haunted travelogues, a healthy dose of witchcraft, paganism, stone circles and ancient trackways.

Meet Todd

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