Lyrics

In the hard grey chairs at the doctor’s office,
Me and a man with a terrible cough
It’s 11:00 a.m.; the doctor is late
Nothing there to do but wait

He handed me a wrinkly business card,
Told me of his young years working hard
Small engine repairs, tractors and mowers,
Back in the days when the world moved slower

He had loved every minute of the simple life,
A lot less simple since he lost his wife.
She had died last June ⎯ her lungs full of cancer
He took all the tests, he was waiting for answers
His hands were shaking; he looked so nervous
As he handed me the card that said,
“At your service.”

At the funeral home when the paperwork came,
I remembered the card, I remembered his name
The obituary short, no next of kin,
We only had to print a few bulletins
For the half dozen people that had gathered there,
Fanning themselves in their hard grey chairs -
Workers from the home where the old man lived.
Sympathy cards with nobody to give.

The minister comforted in their loss
Then everybody rose for “The Old Rugged Cross.”
We carried him down
to where the grass was mown
His wife and his son’s names carved in stone.
As we covered the grave with a shovel of dirt
I remembered the card with the words,
“At your service.”