He saved his broken bongs and bird feathers
and always knew his cardinal directions.
He found voodoo in the ninth ward and crossed the
He was a motherless son, his father sold himself to the devil
for a fiddle and a bottle of gin.
When he walked down to Georgia to get me
I was concrete on his feet and he drowned way down in Dalton
and he wound up in the street.
(I used this picture in an earlier post, but I like it and it goes well with this, so here it is again.)