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