At The Banks Of The River


I come from a town where a small river flows
In that pretty old river the sun floats like gold
By the banks of the river the trees stand old
Among them walked many whose stories been told

One was a fellow who met the right girl
He was walking the side in the cold autumn swirl
When his way was flooded by the pouring rain
He chose to walk past the leafless wane

She was sitting beneath the old trees
Her crying being carried away with the breeze
'Cause her heart’s been broken by another man
Who pretended to love her but lay with Dianne

Just up the hill he heard her moan
And saw a beauty like he’d never known
So he walked right to her and it stopped to rain
And she looked up and lost her pain

I come from a town where a small river flows
In that pretty old river the sun floats like gold
At the banks of that river many a story been told
That was just one of the times long old

 

© Words and Music by Ian Andrews