Saturday on Beale St. With the drunk and the searching I hear an old man playing guitar
I can't make out what he's saying But I can tell you that he's suffered That he means every word from the bottom Of what's left of his heart tonight
A few hours later, I slip into church Singing the songs about Saving Grace One guy's nodding off and another hates to be here And we all mouth the words to save face It's 11:15 on Sunday morning and I wish I was
On a corner in Memphis listening to the old man Singing out his sorrows and laying down his pride He's telling me his story or at least his side With no need to pretend and nowhere to hide
'Cause we are all broken here And we're are all ashamed I couldn't fool you if I wanted to Our stories are too much the same
And what about this Jesus?
They say He drank with the poor and the blind and the lame Do you think He'd like the songs that we sing? Or would He feel the same as I do?
What if Sunday School was on Saturday night? On a corner in Memphis, listening to the old man Singing out his sorrows and laying down his pride
He's telling me his story or at least his side With no need to pretend and nowhere to hide On a corner in Memphis
What if their heart-breaking cries of pain Are the first hymns of tomorrow's saints?
On a corner in Memphis, we're singing with the old man Crying for his sorrows and laying down our pride He's telling us our story or at least his side With no need to pretend and nowhere to hide
On a corner in Memphis We're singing out our sorrows He's telling us his story With no need to pretend and nowhere to hide On a corner in Memphis