The rich fop Francis of Assisi was bored all his life―until he fell in love with Christ and gave all his stuff away and became the troubadour of Lady Poverty.
We start our lives with blues . . . with music. It's our first language. It's the rhythm of the womb. It's your mama's heartbeat inside your head.
And here's to the blues, the real blues— where there's a hint of hope in every cry of desperation.
The music echoes in the emptiness. It reminds us where we came from and where we’re bound.
You got infinite channels and limitless rhymes, but the riddles of livin' stay undefined?
