Morgan Hunt’s Mill
Lyrics and music by Mark Melloan and Kurtis Matthew

Into the night, the river runs
filling pockets in the waterwheel
at Morgan Hunt’s Mill.
Guided by a light and kerosene fumes
through a paint-chip wooden door,
treading glass beneath old shoes

Down in Morgan Hunt’s Mill,
to You from failing hands we pray.
Morgan Hunt’s Mill—
it’s a poor man’s sanctuary.
Time stands still down in
Morgan Hunt’s Mill.

Open book, open doors.
Always room here for some more—
room for a couple more.
Amazing grace, what a sweet, sweet sound,
so you want to meet the ghost?
Stick around.

Down in Morgan Hunt’s Mill,
to You from failing hands we pray.
Morgan Hunt’s Mill—
it’s a poor man’s sanctuary.
Time stands still down in
Morgan Hunt’s Mill.

Talk about Revelation,
interlock fingers through cut-holes
in cotton gloves.
Talk about inspiration.

Copyright 2001. All rights reserved.