i can hear them
the sweet fogginess
of slow muted trumpets
and alto saxophones
following phantom trails
down g*d stricken streets
turning the corner
of canal and bourbon
as my life flows by me
in slices of stillness
and i'm hustling the delta
down avenues of tragedies
but i can't see
where they've gone
no
i can't see
where they've gone
but they said
they would wait for me
among the stones of st. louis

but would they find me here?
if i changed my face
with the twilight veil?
and my life rushes by me
in slices of color
and i know i promised
i'd never let go
but i can't seem to find
the trick to hold
on so they rush past me
in thunderous song
and so i say to myself
"laissez les bons temps rouler"
and let go of the fear
and let go of myself
and the sweet fogginess
calls me on to the treme
and i let it all go
and sing to myself
"laissez les bons temps rouler"