blues

I know at some brown

brink a sun's up

rising 

but 

Lord

some of these days--

 

It's not just my blues

on my back

Lord 

you know it's 

generations

have trod have trod have trod

when will we reckon

the weight

of generations

 

Lord you know

I got my own blues in my pocket too

and all that on my back

it ull press a man down

till he leaks oil like a seed

crushed

 

this boot on my back

can't press me deep down 

enough to that 

dear freshness sprining--

it's too deep 

beneath this dirt in my mouth

got this knee in my neck why

do men not reck God it's not just

my blood in this dirt in my mouth

that can't cry 

 

God do you hear 

these rocks

 

it's not just