Crooked Man

I met a crooked man, he walked a crooked mile

Beckoned to me with his crooked old hand

I followed him for a while

We walked along the old mission road and past a furrowed field

I followed him where a crooked wind blows

into another world

Red sun on the hill, grist for the mill

I feel high but I couldn't say why

An unspoken song seemed to move him along

under the blue marble sky

I leaned upon a crooked stick upon that stony hill

I watched him dance a crooked old step

The air was cool and still

Up to a crooked house he did go, and through the crooked door

A raven flew from the open window

Did he say "Never more"?

The sun it went down, as I turned around

an owl flew over my head

It quoted some prose as a quarter moon rose

Some lines from a song by the Dead:

"Let us see with our hearts these things our eyes have seen

and know that the truth must lie somewhere in between" *

Somewhere in between...

It's such a crooked line that runs from me to you

We shared a glass from this very same vine a crooked time or two

I saw a crooked man, he had a crooked smile

He held the key in his crooked old hand

He had it all the while...

* From "Blues for Allah"