(verse)
Covered with dust and forgotten,
Like the face upon the wall.
The one souvenir of the days gone by,
I treasure most of all:
(refrain)
There's an old spinning wheel in the parlor,
Spinning dreams of the long, long ago.
Spinning dreams of an old fashioned garden,
And a maid with her old fashioned beau,
Sometimes it seems that I can hear her in the twilight
At the organ softly singing
