Rock-a-bye baby, on the tree top, When the wind blows the cradle will rock; When the bough breaks the cradle will fall; Down will come baby, cradle and all.
Sweet and low, sweet and low, Wind of the western sea, Low, low, breathe and blow, Wind of the western sea! Over the rolling waters go, Come from the dying moon, and blow, Blow him again to me; While my little one, while my pretty one sleeps.
