Blind Man

On a cold concrete sidewalk, on the corner of fifth and main Sits an old black blind man, and no one knows his name He plays the same old guitar, he plays the same old tune And when the people pa*s him by, some are heard to say “Play, let the blind man play” He was a cotton picker down in Alabam’ Daddy never amounted to much died by his own hand He lost his sight one terrible night by the hand of the Ku Klux Klan Burned his eyes with a branding iron some are heard to say; Play, let the blind man play Maybe you’ll be around another day Dreamin’ about those little things you know you’ll never see So play, let the blind man play, let the blind man play! The years were kind while the man was blind, but he knew his time was due And no one cried when the blind man died, with the name that no one knew They made his coffin outta knotty pine, with a wreath of laurel too His epitaph was short and sweet, and all it said was play Play let the blind man play Maybe you’ll be around another day Dreamin’ about those little things you know you’ll never see So play, let the blind man play, let the blind man play Maybe you’ll be around another day Dreamin’ about those little things you know you’ll never see So play, let the blind man play, let the blind man play Play that guitar blind man!