歌词
High on a mountain, above the timber line
There lies an old man, with the look of death in his eyes
In his one-room cabin, beside a rocking chair
Lies a handmade 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 handmade fiddle, he made with loving care
