I first ran into Stoney. . . it was a bar downtown;
Was Richmond, Virginia. . . we were bumming around,
Suitcase to suitcase. . . we started him talking,
Finding out about the things we've shared in the miles we've been.
He had a gray pillowcase full of books by Durrell,
And he had this old concertina, all beat up and she played like hell,
Until you got him started singing those Gospel songs,
Well, he drank all night for nothing, he told his stories till dawn.
And he said, "Come on, get your bag, boy! Sun's up now and it's time to roll!
Hell, you know there ain't no better time than early in the morning
To be out walking down that road!
Just feeling another day beginning while some fools just rushing on by,
We'll be like some Mr. Independence: we're taking our own sweet time!"
We walked on out that highway under a clear blue sky,
I's listening to the tales he told, drinking warm red wine.
'Bout the night he rolled seven; bout some girl he'd done wrong;
'Bout everything he could think of while we walked along.