A ’28 pressing from Okeh records,
Sent them on their way,
Looking for Old John Hurt,
Forgotten in his day.
Nothing to much to tell them
Where the bluesman might be
But the song Avalon Blues.
Maybe Georgia, or Mississippi?
Chasing down fingers
Fast as lightning,
A worn-out angel’s voice
With which to sing.
Driving Southern highways,
New York to the Gulf Coast,
To Honky Tonks and Cotton Fields
Searchin’ for a ghost.
A gentle voice on record,
Recorded years ago,
Pressed and sold and forgotten
Gone home and growing old.
Do any highways yet remain,
Dusty, worn and weathered,
Battered and blood-stained,
That lead to the hills that overlook
The birthplace of the blues,
To a hometown (always on my mind)
To the voice of an old and weary angel,
And the pretty girls who want his time?
One day, I’ll get in my car and drive
Down every forgotten back road I can find
And forever search for Old John Hurt
It’s Nobody’s Dirty Business but mine.
Spaceman's Pancakes 