Jim Brady was a local man
His life was non-descript
He was not on local radar
In fact, he was a blip
He moved around but no-one knew
Just who Jim Brady was
they knew not where he came from
They didn't know his flaws
He worked under the table
He wasn't on the grid
But of all the money that Jim made
He gave most to his kids
He worked nights at Giannis
In the kitchen, ***** stuff
He cleaned up after closing
The work here...it was tough
But Jim, worked hard and honest
Earned his money every day
And Gianni, as a favour
Off the records he would pay
Jim Brady was a soldier
He was broken...and no good
But Gianni, saw his life light
And he did what all men should
He gave Jim work and fed him
Kept him clean and made a life
For Jim had come home injured
But it was internal strife
Jim's mind was torn and tattered
Simple thoughts could cause him pain
Jim Brady was a soldier
But would never serve again
He had trouble with his anger
He was not quite in control
But Gianni saw a soldier
Who needed help out of a hole
Gianni ran a restaurant
Been there for 30 years
He helped all those who knew him
Through the smiles and the tears
He housed the ones who needed
Just to get off of the streets
He fed the tired and hungry
And he performed other feats
Gianni was a hero
To all in this poor town
He would never turn a man away
If he knew that he was down
When Jim came in one evening
Gianni read his face
He said "Son, I'll help you"
"And you're now working in this place"
Jim lived by the water
The noises kept him calm
But on nights of wild weather
He stay at Giannis, nice and warm
Loud noises brought the nightmares
Put the pictures in his head
Of the IED explosion
And of his three companions dead
He went to get some treatment
But the VA said "You're fine"
"there's more important cases
than just you out in the line"
He was shuffled home to start again
A damaged, broken man
But with issues like poor Jim did have
He tried as one man can
His marriage broke down quickly
His wife was not to blame
But Jim came home with issues
And the **** war was to blame
He looked for help at every turn
But no-one would help out
Until he met Gianni
Jim's new hero I won't doubt
He gave him work and money
Jim then gained some self esteem
He wasn't Jim the soldier
But, you could see who he had been
His pride was back, his head was high
But still he had the dreams
There was nothing that they knew of
To alleviate the screams
But Gianni, still the hero
Thought "I know what might just work"
He introduced Jim to The Bluesman
He also has a minor quirk
The Bluesman as you seem to know
Lives out behind and plays
His music in the alley
Where he spends most of his days
Gianni helped The Bluesman
Maybe he could now help Jim
It could be The Bluesman's music
Might just be right for him
Most nights when Jim was working
He'd leave the window open some
Just to let Bluesman's music
Find the kitchen . make Jim hum
Jim liked The Bluesman's music
It painted pictures in his head
But this time they were joyful ones
Not pictures of the dead
They helped him come to terms with things
That made his life a mess
They did what others couldn't do
His problems were addressed
With Gianni and The Bluesman
Jim moved on and did quite well
Funny how a restauranteur
And music man could bring Jim back from hell.

On Christmas Eve, the street was dead
Most folks were home or gone
The buildings all were empty
That is, except for one

Gianni kept the lights on
As he did most every night
To let the people of the street
Know that everything's all right

Gianni's was a haven
A safe house for the street
The residents were welcome
And there was always a free seat

On Christmas Eve, though magic...
would take place inside the back
For each Christmas Eve at midnight
They'd get more than Santa with his sack

Precisely at the hour
When Christmas Day became the date
The house lights dimmed just slightly
As if by magic, or by fate

There on stage with Gianni
Sat the Bluesman and a band
Some only played this concert
It was the best one in the land

Hymns and Christmas carols
Sung like angelic odes of joy
And as always ...there's the Bluesman
Smiling, looking just a little coy

You never knew his secrets
There was always more than he would show
And most folks would pay a fortune
To know just what this man did know

Holy, Holy, Holy,
and songs from years gone by
were mixed with hymns that grabbed your heart
and made most folks there cry

It was invitation only
Just the folks from on the street
The locals didn't post it
It was kept quiet.... indiscreet

He played for near three hours
His little band of odds and sods
Singing songs of Christmas
Singing songs to God

He always had his med-sin
that small flask was by his side
And Gianni, every watchful
made sure it never did go dry

The Bluesman, stopped the concert
the room was quiet, all subdued
And everyone just sat there
I swear, not one person moved

He opened up the window
Pointed to the brightest light
He said "another saviour may be born"
"And it may just be tonight"

It was on a night like this my friends
That Mary did give birth
When Jesus Christ, our saviour
was given life right here on earth

My music sends a message
To all, both near and far
The same message was sent years ago
By one bright shining star

Gianni, led them all outside
And they stared into the sky
Silent Night indeed, Gianni thought
And then the Bluesman bid goodbye

He went back through the kitchen
To where he slept most winter nights
Where Gianni, gave him refuge
You know it's safe....from the bright lights.......

Gianni watched the clouds move in
Closed his window for the rain
It was spring and that meant
That it was gonna storm again

He looked out at the street outside
He saw a man turn and walk away
"Better get himself inside"
"Looks like a nasty one today"

The man looked at Gianni's
But his mind was down the road
His hair was wet from the rain
He carried a large load

A block on up from Gianni's
Past the bookstore "Broken Spines'
Was an old white clapboard building
That had sure seen better times

In true New England style
It had shutters painted blue
It had lived a hundred lifetimes
It was nothing short of new

The man walked to the building
Looked around and walked inside
It was dark, and it was scary
A place for lost souls to reside

Gianni never watched him
He had already killed the light
Except the one saved for the Bluesman
To help him safely through the night

Out back of old Gianni's
The Bluesman hunkered down
His box was lifted on four skids
In rain like this he'd surely drown

He looked out at Gianni's
Smiled at the light left on
He knew the street was vacant
Everybody was now gone

The man stood in the building
Looked around for what he sought
He couldn't find the thing he searched for
So his visit was for nought

The building creaked and whispered
Echoed voices from the past
From workers and from sailors
Who's lives were spent with sail and mast

Once it was a tavern
Then a house of ill repute
For years it was a hostel
For the lost and destitute

I guess it's come full circle
A place for homeless and for *****
A place to find redemption
A place for that and more

The man took off his jacket
Ran his hand through his wet hair
Said a silent prayer to Jesus
Even though no one was there

He set to work the next morning
Cleaning up and setting straight
He went on out for say, an hour
To get some wood to fix the gate

Trucks came down the alleyway
Woke the Bluesman as they passed
They were all on their own mission
The trucks drove by so fast

The man stood at the entrance
Gave directions to the men
It was happening so quickly
It was nearly ten to ten

Boxes and some benches
Tables, chairs and things
Were now scattered in the building
On up from where the bluesman sings

The man walked up the alley
The bluesman was in form
He was singing to a ferral cat
In the sunshine getting warm

The man looked at the bluesman
Stopped and listened with a smile
Then he ventured over to him
"God, it's been a while"

"How you doing Father?"
"I see you've made your way to town"
"I"ve got some medcin in my thermos"
"Why don't you rest and sit yourself down?"

"You know I've missed you Bluesman"
""The way you sing just fills my soul"
"I've been empty since you left us"
"Your voice, helps make me whole"

The Bluesman and The Father
Tied together through the word
A pair just so unlikely
You'd not believe it if you heard

"I've moved in to the building"
"Up the block, I'm sure you know"
"I know it" said the Bluesman
"I go inside to miss the snow"

"Well, we're opening on Sunday"
"As a respite from the street"
"We're looking for some people"
"To come on out and meet"

"I'll have coffee, and some biscuits"
"I'll introduce myself and talk"
"I need to ask a favour"
The the two went for a walk

"I need you there on Sunday"
"You know it is your choice"
"I'm not going to preach religion"
"I only want you for your voice"

"I know you believe what you do"
"You follow what you know"
"I'm not asking as a preacher"
"Just a friend, from long ago"

He pulled the Bluesman to him
Higged him close then walked away
Then he went back to the building
Lots to do in there today

The Bluesman walked a little
Tooked  his flask off of his hip
Then he pulle the stopper from it
And then he took a good long sip

Twice more he stopped on his way back
His past was now just up the street
He grabbed his old guitar and then
The Bluesman took a seat

He didn't know just what to do
His past was now right here
The Father was his mentor
Someone he held so dear

Sometime back, and somewhere else
The Bluesman broke a trust
He'd broke a promise to him
He turned his golden word to rust

It was two days until Sunday
The Bluesman just sat and played
And in the building on the corner
The man, worked hard and prayed

There was a sign in front, fresh painted
Saying "Welcome, one and all"
"Services this Sunday"
"In our large, cold, meeting hall"

Sunday came so quickly
A few folks slowly wandered in
Not so much to see the preacher
But, to see the house of sin"

The preacher walked among them
Shaking hands and drinking tea
It was still a work in progress
That was surely plain to see

In the middle of the morning
There was twenty folks or so around
The silence of the morn was broken
By an old familiar sound

In the alley on an old crate
Sat The Bluesman singing songs
Hymns, of all that's holy
How to right all of man's wrongs

In the doorway stood the preacher
As the crowd passed by his side
He listened to The Bluesman
And he opened the doors wide

"I guess we'll meet out here today"
"We have a show for all to hear"
"The gospel from The Bluesman"
"A voice I've always held so dear"

Now, on Sunday's if you're lucky
If all the stars give you a sign
You might come and find the Bluesman
Singing to God, he starts at nine