Mickey Newbury
I was just a boy the year the Blue Bird Special came through hereon its first ru
n South to New Orleans.
A blind old man and I, we came to Guthrie just to see the train. He was black an
d I was green.
"Tell me what you see," said he. "Is the engine black or red, son
? That's the loudest thing I've ever seen."
Then he picked his guitar up and sat on the fender of a truck. Then his eyes lit
up as he begin to sing.
I remember when that old man's dreams were chained to a depot down in Guthrie an
d a Blue Bird Special train
Then he picked his guitar up and shuffled down the walk to the cars of town woun
d 'round the building at his feet
Looking mighty proud, that old man, with his battered hat in his hand. Lord, he
sang a song that made me weep.
Yes, he made me weep.
I read it in a week-old paper. No one made it for his death or even lay a flower
at his feet.
He was just a blind old beggar. He was sad, but, Lord, I'll wager he won't beg f
or nothing on his street.
You will find him, Lord, this morning. He'll be stepping from your door.
Can you save a street in glory for Cortelia Clark?
'Cause I was just a boy the week the Blue Bird Special came through here on its
first run South to New Orleans.
A blind old man and I, we came to Guthrie just to see the train. He was black an
d was I green.
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