At home I still have a postcard showing a church, a cart with a horse and a butcher's shop J. van der Ven.
A pub, a lady on a bicycle
it probably means nothing to you,
but it is where I was born.
This village, I remember what it was like,
the farmers' children in class,
a cart rattling on the cobblestones,
the town hall with a pump in front of it, < br/>a dirt road between corn, the cattle, the farms.
Chorus:
And along my father's garden path I saw the tall trees.
I was a child and didn't know any better,
then that would never pass. How simply they lived back then in simple houses among greenery with farm flowers and a hedge.
But apparently they lived wrong,
the village has been modernized
and now they are on the right track.
Because you see how rich life is,
they see the television quiz
and live in concrete boxes,
with a lot of glass, then you can see
how or the sofa is at Mien's and her dresser with plastic roses.
Chorus:
And along my father's garden path I saw the tall trees.
I was a child and didn't know any better,
then that would never pass. The village youth cuddle up in miniskirts and Beatle hair and cheer along to Beat music.
I know, it's their right,
the new times, just what you say,
but it makes me a bit melancholic.
I knew their fathers
they bought licorice for a cent
I saw their mothers jumping rope.
That village from back then, it's over,
this is all that remained for me:
a postcard and memories.
When I saw the tall trees along my father's garden path.
I was a child, how could I know
that it would pass forever.

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