Robert Hunter
Jerry Garcia


In the timbers of Fennario the wolves are running round The winter was so hard and cold, froze ten feet 'neath the ground Don't murder me, I beg of you don't murder me Please don't murder me I sat down to supper, 'twas a bottle of red whiskey I said my prayers and went to bed, that's the last they saw of me When I awoke, the dire wolf, six hundred pounds of sin Was grinning at my window, all I said was "Come on in" The wolf came in, I got my cards, we sat down for a game I cut my deck to the queen of spades but the cards were all the same In the back-wash of Fennario, the black and bloody mire The dire wolf collects his due while the boys sing round the fire