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The old home town looks the same |
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As I step down from the train |
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And there to meet me is my Mama and Papa |
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Down the road I look and there runs Mary |
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Hair of gold and lips like cherries |
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It's good to touch the green, green grass of home |
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Yes, they'll all come to meet me |
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Arms reaching, smiling sweetly |
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It's good to touch the green, green grass of home |
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The old house is still standing |
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Though the paint is cracked and dry |
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And there's that old oak tree that I used to play on |
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Down the lane I walk with my sweet Mary |
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Hair of gold and lips like cherries |
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It's good to touch the green, green grass of home |
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Then I awake and look around me |
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At four gray walls that surround me |
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And I realize, yes, I was only dreaming |
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For there's a guard and there's a sad old padre |
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On and on we'll walk at daybreak |
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Again I'll touch the green, green grass of home |
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Yes, they'll all come to see me |
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In the shade of that old oak tree |
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As they lay me 'neath the green, green grass of home |
