From: Alex Middleton middlea@nsm.ednet.ns.ca
First verse submitted by: Carl Smith double@intrstar.net
Words and music: Grandpa Jones


FALLING LEAVES


By the grave site of this near forgotten man  
On this cold november morning here I stand  
Thinking of the friends he lost for the love of gold  
This story through the years has often been told    

(D) Falling leaves that lie scattered on the (G) ground,
The birds and (A7) flowers that were here cannot be (D) found.
All the friends that he once knew are not (G) around.
They're all (A7) scattered like the leaves upon the (D) ground.

Some folks drift along through life and never thrill,
To the feeling that a good deed brings until,
It's too late and they are ready to lie down,
There beneath the leaves that's scattered on the ground.

Lord, let my eyes see every need of every man,
Make me stop and always lend a helping hand,
Then when I'm laid beneath that little grassy  mound,
There'll be more friends around than leaves upon the ground.

To your grave there's no use taking any gold,
You cannot use it when it's time for hands to fold,
When you leave this earth for a better home someday,
The only thing you'll take is what you gave away.