Autor: wvs

(Spo­ken)
Way down south, down a long dus­ty road, there's an old ramshack­le hou­se that nobo­dy lives in any­mo­re. And if you walk down the hall and look, you'll see an old Grand­fa­thers Clock that don't run any­mo­re. It's silent now, and it's cover­ed up with spi­der webs. That was my Grand­fa­thers Clock. And this song is the sto­ry of that clock.

(Sung)
My Grandfather's clock was too lar­ge for the shelf,
So it stood nine­ty years on the floor.
It was tal­ler by half than the old man himself,
Though it weig­hed not a pen­ny­weight more.

It was bought on the morn of the day he was born,
It was always his tre­a­su­re and pride,
And it stop­ped short, never to go again, when the old man died.

In watching its pen­dulum swing to and fro,
Many hours he spent as a boy.
And in child­hood and man­hood the clock see­med to know,
And it shared both his sor­row and joy.

And it struck twen­ty-four when he ente­red the door,
With a bloo­ming and beau­tiful bride,
And it stop­ped short, never to go again, when the old man died.

Nine­ty years wit­hout slum­be­ring, tick, tock, tick, tick,
It's life seconds num­be­ring, tick tock, tick, tock,
And it stop­ped short, never to go again, when the old man died.

My Grand­fa­ther said that of tho­se he could hire,
Not a ser­vant so faithful he found.
It wasted no time and it had one desire,
At the end of the week to be wound.

And it stay­ed in its place, not a frown upon its face,
And it's hands never hung by it's side,
And it stop­ped short, never to go again, when the old man died.

Now it rang an alarm in the still of the night,
An alarm that for years had been dumb.
We knew that his spi­rit was plu­ming in flight,
That his hour of depar­tu­re had come.

Still the clock kept its time with a soft and muf­fled chime,
As we sil­ent­ly stood by his side,
And it stop­ped short, never to go again, when the old man died.

Nine­ty years wit­hout slum­be­ring, tick, tock, tick, tick,
It's life seconds num­be­ring, tick tock, tick, tock,
And it stop­ped short, never to go again, when the old man died.

(Spo­ken)
And I've been thin­king that some­day, I'm going down
to my Grandpa's old hou­se. And I'm gon­na get that old clock.
And I'm gon­na shi­ne it up. And I'm gon­na oil it up good.
And get it fixed up pret­ty. And it'll keep time for me.
Just like it did for my Grandpa.

[Quel­le]