My Old Man

My old man had a rounder's soul. He'd hear an old freight train. Then he'd have to go. Said he'd been blessed with a gipsy bone. That's the reason they guessed He'd been cursed to roam. Came into town back before the war. Didn't even know what it was He was looking for. He carried a tattered bag for his violin. It was full of lots of songs Of places that he'd been. He talked real ea-sy had a smiling way To pass along to you When his fiddle played. Making people drop their cares and woes. To hum out loud those tunes That his fiddle howed. Till the people there began to join that sound. And everyone in town was laughing. Singing, dancing round. Like the fiddler's tune was all they heard that night. As if some dream said "All the world is right" His fiddler's eye caught one beauty there. She had that rollin' flowin' golden kind of hair. He played for her as if she danced alone. He played his favorite songs. Ones he called his own. He played until she was the last to go. He stopped and packed his case And said he'd take her home. All the nights that passed a child was born. All the years that passed. That love would keep them warm. All their lives they'd share a dream come true. All because she danced while his fiddle tuned. My old man had a rounder's soul. He'd hear an old freight train. Then he'd have to go. All that I recall said when I was so young. No one else could really Sing those songs he sung. --- My Old Man - John Denver