CANTICUM 1 FACE: Man From Nod

I’m a man from the Land of Nod
On my way to see my God

See my wife of thirty years
Her face is ruined from her tears

Yes I’m a man from the Land of Nod
On my way to see my God

See my child with eyes so bright
The stars are hidden from his sight

O I’m a man from the Land of Nod
On my way to see my God

My mother is draped in robes of shame
Fears to use my father’s name

Well I’m a man from the Land of Nod
On my way to see my God

My other child is buried deep
Sings my dreams when I sleep

Yes I’m a man from the Land of Nod
On my way to see my God

Yes I’m a man from the Land of Nod
On my way to see my God

They say he sleeps on a cold grey stone
Holes for eyes and snow-white bones

Well I’m a man from the Land of Nod
On my way to see my God

Yes I’m a man from the Land of Nod
On my way to see my God


I wrote this in my head this as I was walking across the north of Spain on the Camino de Santiago pilgrimage route. There was a lot of time on those 20 mile days. I got tired of hearing myself think, so I made up some walking songs. In the three weeks that I spent walking, I probably sang this song over five hundred times.

Depending upon my mood, I would add drum breaks, guitar solos and whistling, sing it as opera, blues, hard rock, quiet folk, Motown soul, bleak West Texas country, Good Ole Boy Nashville country, imitating Elvis, Willie, Tom Waits, Dean Martin and James Brown - to name only the best versions.

Just outside of Molinaseca, coming down from the ruined village of Foncebadon, I came upon a flock of young sheep, no shepherd in sight, one small ram with a big bell around its neck. I had been singing Man From the Land of Nod. I stopped and walked through them. They followed. I turned on them and Yahhed! and Gitted! yelling at them move away. They just stood stock still, looking at me with what I imagined to be a measure of sheeplike amusement. I walked on. For the next half a mile they followed. I kept searching for the shepherd or a nearby farm. Nothing. Finally, I just gave in. Fuck it. Started singing again at the top of my lungs, walking along the tops of the hills with a herd of Spanish sheep jumping all around behind me.

Just on the outskirts of Molinaseca, they peeled back the other way. I stood there listening to the sound of the ram's bell clanging away into the distance.