Work

Shooting forward through the greyest clouds up in the sky
There is a metal can with a man
Sitting hunched over a dark machine that he is working
With his stubby hands above the lands
He pushes quarters into slots and every time he puts one in
A cigarette drops into the black box
He doesn’t get to keep the coins or keep the cigarettes
But still tobacco stains his gums and brains
And it is pulling me back
And it is pulling me back
To thinking I must conquer
This world with one hundred dollars
And every color collar is the color of pain
And I can’t trot my road and earn my mane
I picked up the phone and heard a voice so far away
A woman from my past, old and black
In Southern tones she slowly asked me questions and as I answered
I could hear her nod, in touch with God
She seemed to know me better than I knew myself
'Cause when she asked me how I spend my time these days
And I said «music,» she said «yes I know 'cause that’s your callin'
Now the Lord done called you to play.»
And it is calling me back
And it is calling me back
To knowing and feeling
My work is in good keeping
And life is lucid dreaming
And it’s okay
'Cause I have come here with something to say