S J Donnelly and David Gans
He came there in the morning
And stood by at the riverside
Where a truth flowed from the hand of Brother John
He closed his eyes and held his breath
And listened for the word
And a new man made the song to carry on
I was born to be the minstrel
To sing in the streets alone
To plant the seeds of the change and then move on
And never see them grown
Son of a fisherman
He sailed the city streets
Catching a life his father never dreamed
Singing like a blindman
And listening with his eyes
His fingers wove the tale of what he’d seen
I was born to be the minstrel
To sing in the streets alone
To plant the seeds of the change and then move on
And never see them grown
He sang for pennies, not for princes
In the alleys of the mad
And what he said wasn’t wrong (wasn’t wrong)
And what he thought wasn’t bad (wasn’t bad)
I looked for him last Saturday
I was downtown with a friend of mine
We checked his favorite spots but he was gone
I closed my eyes and followed him
Back to that river scene
And sang what I remembered of his song
I was born to be the minstrel
To sing in the streets alone
To plant the seeds of the change and then move on
And never see them grown
Never see them grown