Sidney R. Johnston: Keeper of the Ledger

Lyrics

[Intro]
The day begins with a line.
Seven A.M. October the twelfth, nineteen hundred and fourteen.
My office window, hazy with yesterday's dust.
The scent of paper, ink, and the dry fields.
My kingdom is this desk, this inkwell, this book.

[Verse 1]
The whistle for the eight-fifteen from Macon.
Southern Railway. On time.
I walk the dock. My men are ready.
Platform scales balanced to zero.
Car doors slide open — a wall of white.
Jute-wrapped rectangles, five hundred pounds apiece.
My men hook them, haul them, stack them to the heart pine beams.
I make my notes on a clipboard. Counted twice. Always twice.

[Chorus]
A line for every bale. A number for every pound.
From the bill of lading to the final entry, I follow the sound.
Virginia Cotton Docks. Sidney R. Johnston, President.
The ledger must be true.

[Verse 2]
Back at the desk, the invoices arrive.
Shipments destined for the Fulton Bag and Cotton Mill.
Lot seven-three-four, grade middling fair.
Consigned to Mr. Elsas.
Ink flows from my nib, a black river on a ruled page,
connecting a field in Americus to a loom a mile south of here.
Every bale has a history, a price, a destination.

[Bridge]
My teacup rattles on its saucer.
This is the artery. The iron vein.
And I am just a small, steady nerve,
feeling the pulse, recording its beat.
From raw fiber to woven sheet,
my signature is the final seal.

[Outro]
Five P.M. The columns are summed.
The accounts are balanced. The last page blotted dry.
The warehouse is quiet now, full of sleeping white gold.
Tomorrow, the page turns.
And I will draw the first line again.