The Delta be the Altar ... and them Blues be the Flame

The Delta be the Altar ... and them Blues be the flame.

There I was, in what they call the most southern place on earth. More southern than the deepest of south.

They say it's the birthplace of the Blues. Them black folks got the blues from working the fields. You work all day long, you come home sometimes you ain't have nun to eat. You got the blues. You ain't got nothing. But you got the blues and the blues had you. And that's where they say the blues come from. From the land we call Upper Egypt and where the Nile was once the Mississippi. Where a Mississippi minute feels like countless lifetimes. Where the Mojo runs deeper than your pockets on payday. Where the phrase "cotton pickin " was first uttered as a slur. Them Cotton fields as far back as the eyes could see; seas of white gold behind every spellbinding crossroad. The same crossroads where that guitar playin blues man sold his soul to “Lucy”. Momma always said you don't step on dead folks graves ... and it ain't the dead you gots to worry bout.. it's the living. You see, your blues ain't like mine; at a very early age, I knew the blues... and the blues knew me... She heard my cry. And every now and then, she raises me from the dead.