The Man in Black

On the Southern Streets of the Delta May,
No voices sing the bandleader’s song.
You might hear the humming tune of stone eyes piercing the day,
And the dust on the glass which blankets the dawn.

On summer afternoons, with fallen rain beneath the sun,
The wandering turn, blink toward the sky.
None shall hear that voice from on high.
‘So goes the human design.’

Well friends call me ‘leader.’
I am but their
I try and spread good news.
Its like grabbing water,
When they turn on their brother and abandon their father.

And I seek harmony and I seek the sign.
Perhaps it is only their human design.

I walk these streets with my fists clenched in the
And I look to the sky and I search for the day.
I turn back home, for I am alone.
Yet even there I cannot enter, and I am left to roam.
What smiles in the darkness behind the locked oak door?
And I cling to the fallen rain upon the cement floor.
Where is the sign this time?
Is this the human design?

Well Quentin Joss he walks these streets of New Orleans,
Embracing all who turn on what they cannot see.
And I, the Man in Black, I ask ‘What do you believe?’
He says, ‘I believe, I believe in humanity.’
I ask if he’s heard that voice from on high.
‘Many times,’ he says, ‘but not from the sky.’
‘Where, tell me where then,’ I cried.
He says, ‘I saw you him, you see I saw him in your eyes.’
‘In your eyes and mine,’
And he says, ‘So goes the human design.’

%d bloggers like this: