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


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