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 an old man signed:
"For my children"
And the legs were shaped with his hands
And the top made of oaken wood
And the children that sat around this great table
Touched it with their laughter, and that was good
Morningside, the 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 epitaph...
"For my children"
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