Country music died last night

Country music died last night,

its face a craggy shell,

with straggled white hair

and weathered eyes,

the look of the old man on the mountain.

The old man's voice

was strong and deep,

a sincere bass under

slicked back, coal-black hair

which seemed older

than its years.

Clothed in a somber suit,

it sang with deep emotion,

of moaning trains and prison yards,

of lonely urban Sundays

and warm country churches

and cold, trembling chemical slaves.

Of fighting mad rebel lads,

asking "what is truth?"

Of boys named Sue,

redeemed by the Blood

and a good woman's love.

A butterfly in mid-July

for whom he walked the line

a poor boy from Arkansas

over a ring of fire.

Country music died last night,

known mostly by its alias

And to the reaper ws polite,

When its time came,

it turned and said

"Hello, I'm Johnny Cash."