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