Sorrow requires memory. Just ask that old lady
She's either angry or she's happy, but never for more than a minute
There's a moment, and she's in it: that's all
It's not always pretty
That lady is my grandma, but she doesn't know it
That lady might love me, but she don't know how to show it
Still, it ain't as if she'd thrown it away
I've known the loneliness passed on from my grandma
It haunted her awfully, but now she has forgotten
Like she pared away the rotten parts
It was not always pretty