The Rust of a old tell
He walked up slow
with an old cracked case
Dust on his boots
and a weathered face
They started laughing
in the back of the room
Judging a man
by his faded costume
But when he sang,
the room fell still
Like a quiet breeze
on a summer hill
Every word was soft and sweet
A golden melody,
pure and deep (mmm)
His rusty strings
started to glow
With every chord
he seemed to know
The skeptics stared, the whispers died
As tears welled up
in a stranger's eyes
But when he sang,
the room fell still
Like a quiet breeze
on a summer hill
Every word was soft and sweet
A golden melody,
pure and deep (ahhh)
Just a rusty old guitar
And an angel's voice...