His Spirit is Riding the Wind by Joe Cook Like a windchime played by a breeze. And I yearn to reach out and touch his hand For I feel like he's beckoning to me. I remember his call from up in the sky, "We're passing over, just called to say Hi." Now it's Chitlins Con Carne he's playing for me As his spirit goes riding the wind. I hear chimes that stir memories. There's a homeboy on stage, looking so proud As he's playing and mesmerizing the crowd. Going backstage and shaking a hand Talking to the boys in a Texas Blues band. Lately I'm searching for a face in the clouds, For his spirit is riding the wind. Where we sometimes hear, but cannot see. There's a longing for those who have gone on before. Does the music I hear come from heaven's door, Or is it the wind with spirits free, Sharing a prelude of our world to be. With heavenly harps to soothe our souls. All our spirits will go riding the wind. Copyright © 1996, Joe A. Cook, All Rights Reserved. |  |
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