from.
It was old, tall and shiny in a cabinet made of wood and the silken lining on the doors
still looked new and good.
The pile of old black records had a sweet and tinny tone when I played them in the evenings
on the wind-up gramophone.
It's hard for me to look upon the red brick of today, no matter how much better it may be.
The outfits to find the peach and fig trees are dead and gone and the grapevines just
a lot of memory.
Leave the Hessian ceiling clean with whitewash every spring.
On the polished linoleum floor I'd sit alone and sing.
The melodies I learned there are to me the heart of home, for I learned to love the old
songs from my granny's gramophone.
It was old, tall and shiny in a cabinet made of wood and the silken lining on the doors
still looked new and good.
The pile of old black records had a sweet and tinny tone when I played them in the evenings
on the wind-up gramophone.
I'm going to do a song now that was written by my mother Joy for the family album that we did.
It's a song she said she didn't write about me.
It's a song called Trouble.