BLIND MAN'S BLUFF
You're pretending I serve
As your eyes to see;
I'm pretending you serve
As my eyes for me.
As we grope our way through
These nights without sleep,
My dreams are of you,
Your dreams are of me.
Yet neither of us knows
What to say or to do—
So we just keep tapping
The White Cane Blues.
There's a ditch down there
At our wandering feet,
Full of sewage and cares,
Where wretched we meet,
Pulling each other out,
Pulling each other down.
And we follow that trough
Through country and town.
Yet neither of us knows
What to say or to do—
So we just keep tapping
The White Cane Blues.
Dark glasses we need;
Tin cups would be fine;
And placards that plead,
"Please pity the blind."
Lord, dole out some conscience
To guide us here, please!
We choke on our ignorance,
This fabric of society.
For neither of us knows
What to say or to do—
So we just keep tapping
The White Cane Blues.
