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Funeral Lyrics

Artist: Hank Williams
Album: Luke The Drifter

I was walking in Savannah past a church decayed and dim
When slowly through the window came a plaintive funeral hymn
And my sympathy awakened and a wonder quickly grew
Till I found myself envired in a little colored pew
Out front a colored couple sat in sorrow nearly wild
On the altar was a casket and in the casket was a child
I could picture him while livin' curly hair protuding lips
I'd seen perhaps a thousand in my hurried southern trips
Rose a sad old colored preacher from his little wooden desk
With a manner sorta awkward and countenance grotesque
The simplicity and shrewdness in his Eithopian face
Showed the wisdom and ignorance of a crushed undying race
And he said now don't be weeping for this pretty bit of clay
For the little boy who lived there has done gone and run away
He was doin' very finely and he appreciates your love
But his shore 'nuff father wanted him in the big house up above
The Lord didn't give you that baby by no hundred thousand miles
He just thought you need some sunshine and he lent it for awhile
And he let you keep and love it till your hearts were bigger grown
And these silver tears you're sheddin' now is just interest on the loan
Just think, my poor dear mourners creepin' along on sorrows life's way
What a blessed picnic this here baby got today
Your good fathers and good mothers crowd the little fellow round
In the angel's tender garden of the big plantation ground
And his eyes they brightly sparkle at the pretty things he viewed
But a tear came, and he whispered I want my parents too
But then the angel's chief musicians teach that little boy a song
Says if only they be faithful they'll soon be comin' along
So my poor detached mourners let your hearts with Jesus rest
And don't go to criticizin' the one what knows the best
He has give us many comforts he's got the right to take away
To the Lord be praised in glory forever let us pray

Comments/Interpretations

by shannalise on 11/11/2008 2:29am
i am looking for lukes desk.








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