[G] By the grave site of this near forgotten [C] man
On this [D] cold November morning here I [G] stand
Thinking of the friends he lost for the love of [C] gold
This story [D] through the years has often been [G] told
(G) Falling leaves that lie scattered on the (C) ground,
The birds and (D) flowers that were here cannot be (G) found.
All the friends that he once knew are not (C) around.
They're all (D) scattered like the leaves upon the (G) ground.
[G] Some folks drift along through life and never [C] thrill,
To the [D] feeling that a good deed brings [G] until,
It's too late and they are ready to lie [C] down,
There [D] beneath the leaves that's scattered on the [G] ground.
[G] Lord, let my eyes see every need of every [C] man,
Make me [D] stop and always lend a helping [G] hand,
Then when I'm laid beneath that little grassy [C] mound,
There'll [D] be more friends around than leaves upon the [G] ground.
[G] To your grave there's no use taking any [C] gold,
You cannot [D] use it when it's time for hands to [G] fold,
When you leave this earth for a better home [C] someday,
The only [D] thing you'll take is what you gave [G] away
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