The Gospel According To the Bluesman

The Gospel according to The Bluesman 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 whore 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