Shooting forward through the grayest 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 (it's pulling me back)

And it is pulling me back (it's pulling me back)

To thinking I must conquer this world with one hundred dollars

And every colored collar is the color of pain

And I can't trot my road and earn my lane

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 because that's your calling

Now the Lord will call you to play

And it is calling me back (it's calling me back)

And it is calling me back (it's 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