(B7)Morn ing side,

the (E)old man died,

and (B7)no one cried.

They (E)sim ply turned a way.

And (A)when he died,

wash he left a ta ble made of (E)nails and pride,

and I with his hands he carved these (B7)words in side:

“For my (E)chil dren.”

(B7)Morn ing light,

an (E)morn ing bright,

I (B7)spent the night

with (E)dreams that make you weep.

And (A)Morn ing time,

wash a way the sad ness from these (E)eyes of

mine,

for words with re call the words an (B7)old man signed:

“For my (E)chil dren.”

And the legs were shaped with his hands

and the top made of oak en wood,

and the chil dren that sat a round this great ta ble touched it with their laugh ter.

Ah, and that was good.

(B7)Hmm.

(E)Hmm.

(B7)Hmm.

(E)Hmm.