Got a six-string soul and a tailcoat torn, Singin’ songs where the gumbo’s born. Dusk rolls in with a crawdad breeze, And my heart creaks low like cypress knees. Down in the alley where the shadows grin, I strum for ghosts and next-of-kin. With a battered box and a Cajun tune, Croakin’ love to a jealous moon. Ma chère danced off in a bayou boat, Left her perfume in a firefly’s coat. Now I pick each note like it owes me grace, While paint peels slow from this old bench place. Accordion laughs, fiddle sighs, And streetlamp halos blur my eyes. The rhythm’s soaked in boudin dreams, Where hope floats quiet on moonlit beams. Down in the alley where the gumbo spins, I sing of sins and violin skins. With a soul grown moss from bein’ alone, Still strummin’ stories carved in stone.
