Trudell’s Gone To Mama


Trudell’s gone to mama

He’ll meet her in the sky

Trudell’s gone to mama

He knows the reason why


Trudell’s gone to Mama

I never heard him cry

Trudell’s gone to Mama

His ideas won’t die


Sorry about the words. I just wanted to say something. I knew John Trudell in sound. He only lived in sound. For me that is. For others John Trudell breathed love. John Trudell breathed fire. I’d heard the name John Trudell. Not in sound. I never heard the name in sound. I heard the name on paper. I know not if he was a whiskey indian or a man who went to war as i’m told is true for Leonard Peltier in the tones spoke out by Cash and Dylan. I never knew John Trudell but I met him somewhere. Now his time is up I meet his absence clearly. I wonder about our meeting. The one that didn’t happen. The page I heard him on. I think I see a book. The book it had a title. I knew the title then. I don’t know it now. It’s gone. The title like John Trudell is gone for John Trudell has gone to Mama. Words, People, Books, they all go. But i’m told and i’m told, in these times we live in, ideas never die. I guess when John meets Mama he’ll just leave them in the sky.


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