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White Angel Blues


I think they’re friendly spirits

But I’m still scared to stoke the fire

Stoned out of this solace

Testifying as I tire


Angels stand behind me

Among the blindness and the light

In flowing robes of linen

And liquid wings of white


On the banks of any river

Or beneath the northern lights

Old ghosts can always find me

And conjure the same fights


Don’t take me to no hospital

Been to Galveston and back

Crippled on this mountain

Liquor, poetry and black


So tired of this highway

My spirit’s left my shoes

Just play me Blind Willie McTell’s

‘Dying Crapshooter’s Blues’

© Michael Worthington Music 2019

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