Another Country :The Man in Black

His head and his hairs were white like wool, and white as snow; and his eyes were as a flame of fire; and his feet like unto fine brass,as if they burned in a furnace; and his voice as the sound of many waters. American Bandstand. 1962.His beltbuckle leaves a searing sunspot on the screenAs he prowls sleek and slick like the Arkansas pantherThat used to follow him home from chapel.His voice the rasp of a sharpening razor.Beehive girls swarm the foot of the stageOffer him all with their eyesTonight he ambles, a big black bearWith the barrel bellychest and saddlebag eyesOf a man who’s spent his life in the deep darkness beneath.Folsom Prison Blues.That voiceNever missing a piston-beatOf the freight-train rhythm.His band of young gunfightersStill watching for a finger twitchFrom the Man in BlackAs the song pulls into the sidings He smiles like he’s seen the sunCloses it softly like a piano lidOr a coffin.