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The Graveyard of Songs

For every song that’s written there’s a thousand thrown away
They catch a passing breeze and off they fly
They spin and shimmer hopefully, some lucky ones are found
But most are left to shrivel up and die

In the graveyard of songs
Where the orphan tune belongs
And abandoned melodies are laid to rest
What we write is often wrong
Could be weak and could be strong
And sometimes, at our worst, we’ll send our best
To the graveyard of songs
The graveyard of songs

When my restless heart goes roaming through its misbegotten dreams
In search of some forgotten sweet refrain
If the minutes turn to hours till the night devours the day
I’ll give up the ghost and leave it to remain

In the graveyard of songs
Where the orphan tune belongs
And abandoned melodies are laid to rest
What we write is often wrong
Could be weak and could be strong
Sometimes we even send our very best
To the graveyard of songs
The graveyard of songs

I can fish that flowing river
Feel my line rise and shiver
Yet never hook the songs I used to play
But my battered old guitar
Knows exactly where they are
It trembles when I let them slip away

To the graveyard of songs
Where the orphan tune belongs
And abandoned melodies are laid to rest
What we write is often wrong
Could be weak and could be strong
And sometimes we commend our very best
To the graveyard of songs
The graveyard of songs


(Copyright 2008 by Mark Kaufman)