Eli, the barrowboy, you're the old town Sells coal and marigolds and he cries out all down the day Below the tamarac she is crying Corn cobs and candlewax for the buying, all down the day Would I could afford to buy my love a fine robe Made of gold and silk arabian thread She is dead and gone and lying in a pine grove And I must push my barrow all the day And I must push my barrow all the day Eli, the barrowboy, when they found him Dressed all in corduroy, he had drowned in the river down the way They laid his body down in a churchyard But still when the moon is out, with his pushcart, he calls down the day Would I could afford to buy my love a fine gown Made of gold and silk arabian thread But I am dead and gone and lying in a church ground But still I push my barrow all the day Still I push my barrow all the day