Blind Man

On a cold concrete sidewalk, on the corner of Fifth and Main
 Sits an old black blind man, and no one knows his name.
 He plays the same old guitar, he plays the same old tune
 And when the people pass him by, some are heard to say
 "Play, let the blind man play".
 He was a cotton picker down in Alabam'
 Daddy never amounted to much; died by his own hand
 He lost his sight one terrible night by the hand of the Ku Klux Klan
 Burned his eyes with a branding iron some are heard to say;
 Play, let the blind man play
 Maybe you'll be around another day
 Dreamin' about those little things you know you'll never see
 So play, let the blind man play, let the blind man play!
 ♪
 The years were kind while the man was blind, but he knew his time was due
 And no one cried when the blind man died, with the name that no one knew
 They made his coffin outta knotty pine, with a wreath of laurel too
 His epitaph was short and sweet, and all it said was "Play".
 Play, let the blind man play
 Maybe you'll be around another day
 Dreamin' about those little things you know you'll never see
 So play, let the blind man play, let the blind man play
 Maybe you'll be around another day
 Dreamin' about those little things you know you'll never see
 So play, let the blind man play, let the blind man play
 Play that guitar blind man!