The Bridge

Before the bridge a devil stood

His hollow eyes beneath his hood

With my microphone I cut the smoke

I killed him there with one stroke

Silver fell from open palms

I died before the dawn

Natchez to Memphis and along the ridge

Women still bring flowers to that bridge

Long black train, go if you must

Return to cinders, dust to dust

Long black train, go if you must

Return to cinders, dust to dust