The Eyes of Quentin Joss

I

On the southern streets of the Delta May
They hum a tune of old, stone-cold eyes through the day,
Yea, I’m the Man in Black I sing an old shaman’s song
Oe’r dust upon glass for the long awaiting dawn.

And as fallen rain shines ‘neath the quarter noon chimes,
And all the good people stare straight to the sky,
None shall hear the voice from on high,
And I know so it goes with the human design.

II

I feel a darkness inside rise with every falling drop of rain.
And I look up to the sky and I search for my distant day.
And when I turn on home, I know for sure that I am alone,
For even there I cannot go and so I’m left to roam.

And I say,
“What smiles in the darkness behind the ancient oak door?”
As I cling to the fallen rain on the cobblestoned floor.
I’ll find me some harmony as I seek my sacred sign,
Standing alone I know in the shadows of the human design.

III

Now Quentin Joss walks these streets of New Orleans
Taking all who turn on what they cannot see.
And I, the Man in Black, I ask “What do you believe?”
He says, “Brother, I believe in you. And I believe in me.”

I ask if he’s heard on that voice from on high.
And he says, “Many times, my friend, but not from up in the sky.”
“I saw him, you see, in your eyes and in mine.”
Mr. Joss took up and walked and said, “So goes the human design.”

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