[Mournful, Echoing Vocal Intro] (A single, high voice calling out over an empty space) [Verse 1] I stand at the edge where the white cotton grows, Watching the shadows in the long, heavy rows. The drums were all taken, the village turned cold, But they couldn't lock up the rhythm they hold. I won't pretend that I carry their chains, But I hear the echoes of the historical strains. A lone worker calls out beneath the hot sun, And a hundred miles away, the jazz has begun. [Chorus] Call across the water, cry across the mud, The field holler running through the musical blood. From the rows of the cotton to the bright city lights, The ghost in the horn through the modern-day nights. Stand by the fence line, let the sound carry through, The roots of the sorrow turning into the blue. [Bridge: The Echo] (The instruments drop away, leaving just a rhythmic, heavy foot-stomp) [Spoken/Whispered Loop] Oh, hear the call... [Spoken/Whispered Loop] Oh, bend the line... [Outro] (A single acoustic note rings out and decays into a vast, empty sky) The field is quiet. The music remains. [Slow, solemn blues cadence] [Fade to End]
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