Deep in back of the old man’s mind
Lies a richness of memories of time gone by
Memories of dancing and memories not so kind
Times of pickin that there cotton and a pushin that plow
Memories not so good and not all so bad
He old now, can’t really remember much now
But those old hands have held a generation of five
Some done moved away and some have died
Don’t many folks around
Those that did done moved uptown
His hands now mussed and all shriveled up
Those old hands done held a many bitter cup
Hard to remember he was once a young man
Rockin and a rubbin them hands, eyes a blank stare
Just a starin, and a mumbling , and grinning at those hands
From a distance it seems like the old man never had a care
Never had to cry
For the permanent tears in his eyes
Ask him why he sits there all day
Just a starin, just rubbin them old hands
Lookin at his hands, eyes a blank stare
He’d reply with a richness of memories in his heart
Memories of times now gone by
Softly mumblin under his breathe he’d sigh
If these old hands could talk