SOME ARE BORN AND SOME ARE DYING


when the man comes around.

Ten years ago, the genesis of Johnny Cash's last great song came to him in a dream. It took him through the Book of Job, and finally on to the dark and puzzling pages of the Book of Revelations, before his fifteen pages of notes and a melody he could not loose from his brain became four minutes and twenty-six seconds of gospel folk brilliance. This song, written by a God-fearing man at the height of his rejuvenated musical and spiritual powers, feels like a prayer and a warning, an omen and an elegy, a last gasp of resignation and a battle cry for resurrection. And so, for a week of re-birth and near death, at the funeral of one year and the baptism of another, on my shuffling iPod and in my swirling head, this feels like the song and the soundtrack for another dark and disappearing day.

THE MAN COMES AROUND
Johnny Cash

And I heard, as it were, the noise of thunder:
One of the four beasts saying: "Come and see."
And I saw.
And behold, a white horse.

There's a man goin' 'round takin' names
And he decides who to free and who to blame
Everybody won't be treated all the same
There'll be a golden ladder reaching down
When the man comes around.

The hairs on your arm will stand up
At the terror in each sip and in each sup.
For you partake of that last offered cup,
Or disappear into the potter's ground
When the man comes around.

Hear the trumpets, hear the pipers
One hundred million angels singin'
Multitudes are marching to the big kettle drum
Voices callin', voices cryin'
Some are born and some are dyin'
It's Alpha's and Omega's Kingdom come

And the whirlwind is in the thorn tree
The virgins are all trimming their wicks
The whirlwind is in the thorn tree
It's hard for thee to kick against the pricks

Till Armageddon, no Shalam, no Shalom
Then the father hen will call his chickens home
The wise men will bow down before the throne
And at his feet they'll cast their golden crown
When the man comes around.

Whoever is unjust, let him be unjust still
Whoever is righteous, let him be righteous still
Whoever is filthy, let him be filthy still
Listen to the words long down
When the man comes around.

Hear the trumpets, hear the pipers
One hundred million angels singin'
Multitudes are marchin' to the big kettle drum
Voices callin', voices cryin'
Some are born and some are dyin'
It's Alpha's and Omega's Kingdom come.

And the whirlwind is in the thorn tree
The virgins are all trimming their wicks
The whirlwind is in the thorn tree
It's hard for thee to kick against the pricks.

In measured hundredweight and penny pound
When the man comes around.

And I heard a voice in the midst of the four beasts,
And I looked and behold: a pale horse
And his name, that sat on him, was Death
And Hell followed with him.

Posted: Thu - December 29, 2005 at 11:06 PM          

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