Ideal Cynics Follow

Blessed Are...
The 33rd Of August
Today, there´s no salvation, the band´s packed up and gone
Left me standing with my penny in my hand
there´s a big crowd at the station where the blind man sings his song
But he can see what they can´t understand.

(CHORUS)
It´s the thirty-third of August and I´m fin´lly touching down
Eight days from Sunday finds me Saturday bound.

Once I stumbled through the darkness, tumbled to my knees
A thousand voices screamin´ in my brain
Woke up in a squad car, busted down for vagrancy
Outside my cell as sure as hell, it looked like rain.

But now I´ve got my dangerous feelings under lock and chain
Guess I killed my violent nature with a smile
Though the demons danced and sang their song within my fevered brain
Not all my God-like thoughts, Lord, were defiled.

Mickey Newbury
Copyright 1969 by Acuff-Rose Publications, Inc.
BMI 3:42

Blessed Are...
The 33rd Of August