The Gearhart Hotel...A Memory Locked Inside A Melody...

#12 RESIDENTS OF THE FOURTH FLOOR

Greg the painter lived alone, The hotel his only home,

We’re the residents of the fourth floor, Come to work each summer by the shore, And though our times have past, This song might help them last, We’re the residents of the fourth floor! Clifford fell in the pool and drowned, When there was no one else around, He had no burial plot to lay, So John gave his own grave away, Clifford was quite famous in our town, As he ran the elevator up and down, With cowboys, cooks and maids, and life-guards that have stayed, He’s a resident of the fourth floor. We’re the residents of the fourth floor, Come to work each summer by the shore, And though our times have past, This song might help them last, We’re the residents of the fourth floor!

He painted stairways and the walls, He painted ceilings and the halls, He painted and he painted every year, and we hold Greg’s memory most dear, And though his room was small, we still like to recall, Greg the painter who lived on the fourth floor.

George Arnold plays piano bar, He was good but not a star, And like the driftwood by the sea, He’s drifted here to play the keys,

he plays upon the black notes and the white, He sings your favorite songs most every night,

with cowboys cooks and maids, and life-guards that have stayed, he’s a resident of the fourth floor.

We’re the residents of the fourth floor, Come to work each summer by the shore, And though our times have past, This song might help them last, We’re the residents of the fourth floor!

Come and venture up the stairs, There are legends living there.

Greg Anderson, The Painter