Old Man and his Fiddle

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High on the mountain above the timberline
There lies an old man With a look of death in his eyes

In his one room cabin beside a rocking chair
Lies a hand made fiddle he made with loving care

His hands are weak and trembling his bow is worn and frayed
He thinks of lonesome ballads he’s not strong enough to play

The old man is now in heaven but his fiddle stayed behind
To play a strange and lonesome melody hear it crying through the pines

In his one room cabin beside a rocking chair
Lies a hand made fiddle he made with loving care