Our old friend lay dyin', And we'd gathered to say our goodbyes,
Which we all did in our own way,
And he'd respond with a sigh, Or a squeeze of the hand,
Or the slightest smile,
He was pretty tired by then, But we knew by his eyes he could hear us,
Then things began to begin.
It wasn't like nothin' was planned y'know,
One fella just grabbed his guitar, Then another commenced to playin'
And we all of us sounded like stars.
Some folks would come in to share in a song, And some would bring one of their own.
Or a mandolin, or a banjo,
To join in singing him home.
This went on for several hours,
And the songs were sung to and fro,
Then his wife said: "The family needs time with him,
Before it's his turn to go."
But on our way out, a sad young girl said, 'I wanted to sing Grandpa a song',
And we said, 'ok, which one is it?'
When she told us it sounded all wrong, But then when she started to singin',
And gave her grandpa that song,
It didn't take much understandin' to know,
It was just the right thing all along.
Now later, we heard of a rumor, That was passed around among friends,
That we'd been called an Angel Band, By some who were there through the end.
Now I can't speak to the truth of that, And I sure won't call it a lie,
'Cause that afternoon as our friend lay there, I spotted a chink in the sky.
And I know for a fact there was Angels that day, Right there in that room where we sang,
And they captured our voices and our guitars,
And my, oh my how they rang.
They took him along when they left, of course, It was his time you know,
But no one there will forget the day,
We sang our old friend home.
John McFadyen - Oct, 2013