Delta Dave

He tuned up his cheap Stratocaster guitar
Slung it on his back, toting his battery powered amplifier

He rode his bicycle to Bourke Street
And he set up his equipment
He played his blues
For survival and to pay the rent
But he’d brought food for the homeless
And toys for the children
Delta Dave

He sang of Kansas City and Sweet Home Chicago
So far away
His voice was but a whisper but his heart was like a mountain
Delta Dave

And he cast no judgment on the choices others made
He was happy for a dollar from the music that he played
He took what he needed and gave the rest away
Delta Dave

In July of ’99 I guess he figured it was time
He took one last ride to that big blues gig in the sky

And The Age ran a story about an angelic man
Who’d tried to cure the city’s ills with his gypsy blues band
And the hardened & the helpless wrote his eulogy in chalk
On the steps of his stage on the Swanston Street walk
And they venerated his name in the manner of a saint
And if it wasn’t too much … it was a little too late
Delta Dave

© Geoff Achison April 22, 2015