Good with his hands

my father was a carpenter he made things out of wood
and he made them strong and he made them good
he took me out on sundays to gather fallen trees
we’d find treasures in the bushes and pennies in the leaves
he said they came from fighter planes many years before
he said you needed empty pockets setting out to war
i thought they came from heaven i prayed it could be true
as he slipped another coin beneath his shoe
and i looked up and i saw his eyes
he was good with his hands but hopeless with lies

i saw him in the garden on the day she went away
he was watering the roses and he hadn’t much to say
i asked where she was going and he took me to the wood
he said this time it’s serious i think she’s gone for good
i thought she’d gone to heaven i prayed it wasn’t true
i had to fall in love before i knew
and i saw tears behind his glove
he was good with his hands but hopeless in love

she took away the life he knew so he made one for himself
and he framed it and he kept it on the shelf
and she looked down his perfect bride
he was good with his hands but dying inside


A / D / A / D


A / D / E / A

A / D / E / D – A


A / D / E / F#m – D

E – A / E – F#m /

F#m – D / A – E

E – D / D – E

E – A / D – E

F#m – – E /

A / D

Reg Meuross Singer Songwriter Storyteller