I met a girl named Abigail
Who I spent with a couple of nights
She wore horse hair for her raincoat
And paper cuts for eyes
She was born in a manger
Beneath the donkey's bray
Then ran off with the sandman
That the inn had turned away

I met her in Nazareth
Weeping like a warring dove
Her sighs were angels dying
Her tears were Noah's flood
I never called her beautiful
I never gave her my name
For in the moment my lips had parted
My tongue had caught aflame

I became her Christmas ornament
Made of paper mache
But it'd been a cold Christmas
And she kept the cold at bay
She read the Bible to me
As I turned my blood into wine
Our idle hands locked in lust
Just sinners in our prime

She sewed me a crow
Her thumbs like Mistress Miller
But when the crow pulled out its filling
She became as tortured as a killer
The last thing about her I remember
Before that bird plucked out my sight
Was it before me with broken wings
And a crucifix cut in the dying light

When I took to my deathbed
She gave me a hymn from her harp
Her fingers moved like Lazarus
And her stories broke my heart
The notes were my gallows
The chords like a firing squad
But she waited with a smile
To deliver me to God