The old man says he's ready for the ride,
To take that canoe across to the other side,
He says it's all been done and there ain't no use,
To sit 'round waitin' for the boatman to come by and pick him up,
The old man says he's tired and he's seen,
All the things he needed to see,
He says his heart ain't in it anymore,
He just wants to close his eyes, and go to sleep,
And see the angels playing by the sycamore tree,
And have the wind sing him songs that'll never come to be,
For after a lifetime of fighting every war a man can,
He's ready to feel some peace, in his old shrinkled hands,
The old man says he's just another soldier on a broken road,
Says he has no rifle, since he dropped it, oh so many years ago,
For the killing, he believed, was building him a cell,
Death by death, brick by brick, Oh my, the stories that cell could tell,
The old man says by the winter he will be no more,
That before the first snow, he'll be on the go,
That before the lakes freeze and the families start buying christmass trees,
He'll be in that eternally long slow sleep,
Watching the angels playing by the sycamore tree,
And having the wind sing him songs that'll never come to be,
For after a lifetime of fighting every war a man can,
He's ready to feel some peace, in his old shrinkled hands,
The old man says it's over, at the dinner table there's now and extra place,
In the ranks of the departed you can now see his face,
His smiles shines bright as he holds the candle that lights up the night,
He snuck behind the boatman and he finally took the canoe across to the other side,
And now he marvels at the angels playing by the sycamore tree,
And at having the wind singing him songs that'll never come to be,
For after a lifetime of fighting every war a man can,
He finally knows what it means to feel some peace, in his old shrinkled hands,
ARealRock'N'Rolla
To take that canoe across to the other side,
He says it's all been done and there ain't no use,
To sit 'round waitin' for the boatman to come by and pick him up,
The old man says he's tired and he's seen,
All the things he needed to see,
He says his heart ain't in it anymore,
He just wants to close his eyes, and go to sleep,
And see the angels playing by the sycamore tree,
And have the wind sing him songs that'll never come to be,
For after a lifetime of fighting every war a man can,
He's ready to feel some peace, in his old shrinkled hands,
The old man says he's just another soldier on a broken road,
Says he has no rifle, since he dropped it, oh so many years ago,
For the killing, he believed, was building him a cell,
Death by death, brick by brick, Oh my, the stories that cell could tell,
The old man says by the winter he will be no more,
That before the first snow, he'll be on the go,
That before the lakes freeze and the families start buying christmass trees,
He'll be in that eternally long slow sleep,
Watching the angels playing by the sycamore tree,
And having the wind sing him songs that'll never come to be,
For after a lifetime of fighting every war a man can,
He's ready to feel some peace, in his old shrinkled hands,
The old man says it's over, at the dinner table there's now and extra place,
In the ranks of the departed you can now see his face,
His smiles shines bright as he holds the candle that lights up the night,
He snuck behind the boatman and he finally took the canoe across to the other side,
And now he marvels at the angels playing by the sycamore tree,
And at having the wind singing him songs that'll never come to be,
For after a lifetime of fighting every war a man can,
He finally knows what it means to feel some peace, in his old shrinkled hands,
ARealRock'N'Rolla
