Memories

im a very tired, old and worn out man
and my eyes have long been blind
most things that people say to me
just seem to slip my mind

oh but the suffering and painful times
that were in years long gone
are still as clear upon my memory
as the numbers on my arm

"what will become of all the memories
are they to scatter with the dust in the breeze
and who will stand before the world
knowing what to say
when the very last survivor--fades away"

when i hold my grandson close to me
and his fingers trace the pattern of my tears
he asks me granpa, tell me why do you cry
what is it that you fear

and i tell him there once was another child
who smelled as sweet and felt as warm
but he was taken from before my eyes
and only i remain to mourn

"what will become of all the memories
are they to scatter with the dust and the breeze
and who will stand before a world
that now wishes to deny
how will they believe in someone
who never heard the cries"

there is nothing i can say or do to make things change
time has a way of passing by so fast
like a fleeting shadow no one will recall
the faces of the past

"what will become of all the memories
are they to scatter with the dust and the breeze
yet one thought gives me comfort
its all that i have left
oh i know that god in heaven
wont forget"