Gone are the days when my heart was young and gay
Gone are my friends from the cotton fields away
Gone from the earth to a better land I know
I hear their gentle voices calling "Old Black Joe."
I'm coming, I'm coming, for my head is bending low
I hear their gentle voices calling "Old Black Joe."
Why do I weep, when my heart should feel no pain
Why do I sigh that my friends come not again?
Grieving for forms now departed long ago
I hear their gentle voices calling "Old Black Joe."
Where are the hearts once so happy and so free?
The children so dear that I held upon my knee?
Gone to the shore where my soul has longed to go
I hear their gentle voices calling "Old Black Joe."
