I'm 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
As I hold my grandson close to me
And his fingers trace the pattern of my tears
He asks me "Grandpa, Tell me why do you cry...
What is it that you fear?"
Oh 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 in the breeze
And who will stand before a world that now wishes to deny
Will they believe in someone, who never heard the cries
What can I say or do to make things change?
Time has a way of passing by so fast
And as 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 in the breeze
Yet one thought gives me comfort, it's all that I have left
I know that God and the children... They won't forget!
We won't forget!
Please, Don't forget!
