The kindest person I ever knew was my grandmother, Mary,
She came from the Azores Islands, off of the Portugal coast,
And she and her husband worked on a little farm in the valley so green, called the San Joaquin,
He was handsome and tall, and he played the guitar with ease,
And she'd fallen in love when he sang in Portuguese.
La, la, la, la, la, la, la, la,
La, la, la, la, la, la,
"Ate amanha miu amor," he sang in Portuguese.
My grandfather passed away before he had time to grow old,
The life of an immigrant farmer had taken a terrible toll,
And Mary once told me she often would wake in the night,
And she'd still hear him call through the dark down the hall,
And she'd kneel by her bed and take out her rosary beads,
And the tears would fall as she'd pray in Portuguese.
Oh, Mary, the church bells are ringing for Christmas,
Mary, do you hear an angel's sweet voice?
Oh, Mary, I know you must leave when he calls,
But I wish that somehow you could stay...'cause I loved you most of all.
She lies so still now in her snowy white hospital bed, (ate amanha miu amor)
With the life that she loved so much still going on in her head,
She's there in her kitchen, and laughter is filling the room,
O'er her garden in spring with her roses in bloom,
Now she smiles like she knows me, though I'm never sure who she sees,
But her eyes still light up when I sing in Portuguese.
La, la, la, la, la, la, la, la,
La, la, la, la, la, la,
"Ate amanha miu amor," I sing in Portuguese,
La, la, la, la, la, la, la, la,
La, la, la, la, la, la,
Her eyes light up when I sing in Portuguese.
