"Come Now"
This poem deals with the blues myth of Robert Johnson selling his soul to the Devil. Now, let's leave a question of equitable trade alone for the moment and just look at the iconic myth (which may have been originally Tommy Johnson, which is how it is told in O Brother, Where Art Though?). You have a man so desperate to play his soul out that he sells his soul to the Devil at a crossroads at midnight and trading his soul for the ability to play. When he came back, his friends were amazed at what he could do. Forget dead presidents and cherry trees, this is the American myth, right here.
This is in dedication...
I've heard old ladies.
I've heard their clicking tongues.
I've heard words of morning
Falling down across the sun.
Clicking at me until
This poor boy runs, this poor dirt boy.
Never been worth no while.
Come on down, Robert Johnson,
Let's hit up those old cross roads.
Come on now,
Come on down,
Don't you know that
Hell's a long way round?
Come on down, Robert Johnson,
And play your soul.
We got Scratch at midnight
And a long way to go.
I've heard the gettin's good.
I've heard that old devil say.
I've heard it, dark and moonlit,
While o'er that rusty railtrack
The fog did lay.
Just a poor boy, child, just a sad poor boy.
Never could no guitar play.
I walked across corn fields.
I walked across nights of wine.
I walked 'til the day's been done
And hard sweat won its blood.
I walked across nowhere,
And I got nowhere fast.
Excuse me while this poor boy gets mine.
Come on down, Robert Johnson,
Let's hit up those old cross roads.
Come on now,
Come on down,
Ain't you heard that
Hell's a long way round?
Come on down, Robert Johnson,
And let's pay our souls.
We got Scratch at midnight
And a long way to go.
This poem written by W. Doug Bolden.
"The hidden is greater than the seen."