MOSES JONES         

Writer Damon Black



I WAS RAISED BY AN OLD BLACK MAN NAMED MOSES JONES IN A SHACK BY A COTTON PATCH WE CALLED HOME HE TOOK THE LEAD AND PLOWED THE SOD I LAY BEHIND JUST BUSTING CLODS WE BOTH WORKED TO MAKE THAT PLACE A HOME ONE HE TOLD ME ABOUT A GIRL NAMED JENNY LYNN HE SAID HE WONDERED WHY SHE FELL IN LOVE WITH HIM I SAID WHERE'S YOUR JENNY NOW HE JUST LOOKED UP IN THE CLOUDS THE WAY HE LOOKED UP EVERY NOW AND THEN HE SAID NOW I'M COMING, I'M COMING NEVER MORE TO ROAM I CAN FEEL YOUR ARMS A REACHING FOR ME JENNY I'M COMING HOME ONE SUMMER DAY WE LAID HIS SOUL TO REST IN HIS FADED OVERALLS THEY HAD HIM DRESSED BUT HE HAD WANTED IT THAT WAY MANY TIMES I'VE HEARD HIM SAY JENNY WOULD NOT KNOW ME IN A SUIT AND VEST NOW MANY, MANY YEARS HAVE COME AND GONE WHEN I TOLD MY BOY ABOUT ME AND MOSES JONES ABOUT THE HARD TIMES THAT WE HAD HE JUST SMILED AND SAID NOW DAD SO I GRABBED MY OLD SLOUCH HAT AND SAID COME ON ALL DAY WE DROVE TILL WE CAME TO A BIG IAK TREE THERE WERE TEARS IN HIS EYES WHEN HE LOOKED UP AT ME BENEATH THE WILDFLOWERS LAY THE STONE WHERE I'D CHISELED MOSES JONES AFTER ALL THESE YEARS STILL PLAIN ENOUGH TO READ AND IT READ, I'M COMING, I'M COMING NEVER MORE TO ROAM I CAN FEEL YOUR ARMS A REACHING FOR ME JENNY I'M COMING HOME