Down by the water where the skulls still shine, Madame Brigitte call your name one last time. Candle burn low, bell done ring, The dead all hum when the blackbirds sing. Oh Brigitte, Brigitte, the night grow near, The tide rise high, and the souls still hear. She say, “Boy, don’t cry, just play it slow, When the river run red, that’s the way I go.” The wind don’t lie, the fire don’t fade, Madame Brigitte done call my name.
