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{brushed jazz drums, mellow
upright bass groove, delicate piano major 7th chords,
distant clarinet
line} There’s an old front gate
that still knows my name,
A winding drive
that hasn’t changed.
White porch swing sways in the evening breeze,
Like she’s still humming
through the maple trees.
Every picture frame, every worn-out chair,
Still holds the laughter
we used to share.
The world kept turning
when she said goodbye,
But this old house still keeps her alive.
This big old house
was her final gift to me,
Filled with every dream beneath its old oak trees.
It’s more than walls,
it’s more than stone,
It’s the only place that
still feels like home.
When the sunset paints the windows gold,
I can almost hear her soft hello.
Though she’s gone
where angels softly sing,
She left her love
in everything. The kitchen clock keeps steady time,
Though hers was always
one step behind.
I’d swear I hear her down the hall,
Then I remember… she’s beyond my call.
So I pour two cups
on Sunday morn’, Smile a little
through the storm.
Some folks see
a lonely old man,
I see forever
in these weathered hands.
If heaven’s just beyond the blue,
She’s smiling down at this old view.
And when my own long day is through,
I’ll walk that porch… and back to you.
This big old house was her final gift to me,
A place where love still lives in every memory.
No, I’ll never really be alone,
As long as these old walls are home.
So I’ll tend the roses,
keep the lights aglow,
For every soul that’s passing by to know— The richest man is
not the one with gold,
But the one whose heart still has a hand to hold.
And in this house,
her love will always stay… Until I meet her once again someday.
{dramatic orchestral ritardando, swelling strings,
final sustained big band chord,
soft piano decay}