Madeline

Over dusty parlor velvet stares a memory
Rockers creak and the knitting needles weave
At the quiet house where Christmas never comes
Like a lull-a-bye whose rhymes have all been sung

Madeline’s Dad was a Shelbyville coal miner
He worked all day to provide for his wife and child
He used to pass out the prayer books every Sunday
But he never would come to church after Madeline died

They say her Mama still sets three plates on the table
And hangs her summer dresses on the line
She sings to a child whose been gone some 30 years now
And she turns down Madeline’s bed sheets every night

In the sleepy towns the shadows lay forever
Generations pass and whisper through the shade
Tales twine like ivy in the minds of little children
As they creep up the kitchen walls and back door frames

©2009 Jason Wilber/Everyday Rain Music (BMI)

From the album Ghost Of Summers Past

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