I'm an Oak Cliff boy from out off Illinois Avenue, a 1949 model. Standing here on the corner of Space and Time, my Spanish horsehide jacket scarred and smelling of black coffee and unfiltered cigarettes, all I can hear is the rapid changes of guitars tuned good and firm feelin' women. It must be something in the air.There is this character named Mr. Jones who seems to shuffle through the narrative, pausing long enough for cameo appearances, then tip tapping on his way wearing shades and funny hats in search of some kind of Temple. After all, every song is a prayer and every building is a temple, as they say on the hill. To remember the Sabbath and keep it holy, one need only raise one's voice in song, you see, and bounce one's voice off the facades and countenances of the temples. Selah. So mote it be.
At times, others join the chorus and the prayers become more fervent. Therefore, do I rejoice.
Mr. Jones' stature is thereby increased and he assumes mythic proportions among men. Selah. So mote it be.
I shall pray for my mother now and at the time of my death.
- The Legendary
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