Morningside The old man died And no one cried They simply turned away And when he died He left a table made of nails and pride And with his hands he carved these words inside For my children
Morning light Morning bright I spent the night With dreams that make you weep Morning time Wash away the sadness from these eyes of mine For I recall the words the old man signed For my children
And the legs were shaped with his hands And the top made of oaken wood And the children sat around this table Touched with their laughter Ah, and that was good
Morningside An old man died And no one cried He surely died alone And truth is sad For not a child would claim the gift he had The words he carved became his epitath For my children
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