Life comes and goes
Nothing stops the flow
To the sound of a beat-up guitar
Some believe back to the Creator
We all must go
To stop the panic in their hearts
I just believe in that old guitar
And the melody it sadly plays
We dance to its rhythm
Which is all we can do
Until our dying day
Some ancient but ageless Bluesman
Blasting away in the key of E
He hammers on, bends strings and twists the tune
That is life to you and me
He lifts the bottle to his black lips
And starts to jam on ' Dust My Broom '
Our lives are just swirls in the dust
Of his beat-up, broke-down room
He knows the Crossroads, the Hellhound too
Many times he's rode the blinds
He's walked down all those dusty roads
Knows his first and second minds
He opens his mouth to sing, out comes a moan
Darker than a moonless night
Deeper than the depths of all seven seas
The Bluesman sings of wrong and right
Of salvation, sin and all between
He weaves his words of woe
To the unearthly clang of his guitar
On the world must go
So pray he never runs out of songs
That there's always another to choose
There drinking whiskey in his old railroad shack
Sits God singing the Blues
Sep 30, 2017
Sep 30, 2017 at 10:59 AM UTC
Life comes and goes
Nothing stops the flow
To the sound of a beat-up guitar
Some believe back to the Creator
We all must go
To stop the panic in their hearts
I just believe in that old guitar
And the melody it sadly plays
We dance to its rhythm
Which is all we can do
Until our dying day
Some ancient but ageless Bluesman
Blasting away in the key of E
He hammers on, bends strings and twists the tune
That is life to you and me
He lifts the bottle to his black lips
And starts to jam on ' Dust My Broom '
Our lives are just swirls in the dust
Of his beat-up, broke-down room
He knows the Crossroads, the Hellhound too
Many times he's rode the blinds
He's walked down all those dusty roads
Knows his first and second minds
He opens his mouth to sing, out comes a moan
Darker than a moonless night
Deeper than the depths of all seven seas
The Bluesman sings of wrong and right
Of salvation, sin and all between
He weaves his words of woe
To the unearthly clang of his guitar
On the world must go
So pray he never runs out of songs
That there's always another to choose
There drinking whiskey in his old railroad shack
Sits God singing the Blues
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