The Ghost of James Bell

One late night down in Georgia
It was dark and wet and cold
I was driving my old pickup
Down a backwoods country road
Up ahead in the distance
What is was I couldn’t tell
Then I soon remembered
The story of old James Bell.

They said James came home on evening
With whiskey on his breath
He shot his lovely wife Marie
And with the same gun he met his death
The law found them that morning
In a bloody crimson stain
The sheriff said, “What has happened here
Ya’ll can see is very plain.”

He said, “I stand for justice
Some folks just won’t run.”
He said, “I stand for justice,
Justice will be done.”

Some folks never knew it
Some folks couldn’t tell
What had really happened
On that night of living hell.
But twenty years ago today
When I was just thirteen
A little boy had seen it all
And that little boy was me.

You see James came home that evening
Marie was lying on the floor
The sheriff had his way with her
Then he aimed his forty-four.
I watched him as he shot James down
Like no one would ever know
As I’m driving down this road tonight
The truth still untold.

I drove by the sheriff’s house
And swerved off of the road
There was someone by the mailbox
In a ragged overcoat.
I got out and walked up closer
Though I was scared as hell
And there he was before me
The ghost of old James Bell.

He must have walked right through me
As he staggered up the drive
I got back in my truck
Just glad to be alive.
James knocked on the sheriff’s door
With a pick-axe by his side
You could hear the screams a mile away
As I drove off through the night.

He said, “I stand for justice
Some folks just won’t run.”
He said, “I stand for justice,
Justice will be done.”

The morning paper came
The headlines there it read
The sheriff had been murdered
They found him lying on his steps
They said he died a vicious death
No suspect could be found
No one had seen a single thing
No one had heard a sound

I leaned back in my chair
I felt a bit relieved
I could put the past behind me
Forget what I had seen
I put down the morning paper
But as I began to leave
I couldn’t help but notice
The blood stains on my sleeve

© 1984  Dean Hall Music