Hey Jack Kerouac, I think of your mother and the tears
she cried, she cried for none other than her little boy lost in
our little world that hated and that dared to drag him down. Her
little boy courageous who chose his words from mouths of babes got
lost in the wood. Hip flask slining madman, steaming cafe flirts,
they all spoke through you.
Hey Jack, now for the tricky part, when you were the
brightest star who were the shadows? Of the San Francisco beat
boys you were the favorite. Now they sit and rattle their bones
and think of their blood stoned days. You chose your words from
mouths of babes got lost in the wood. The hip flask slinging
madman, steaming cafe flirts, nights in Chinatown howling at
night.
Allen baby, why so jaded? Have the boys all grown up and
their beauty faded? Billy, what a saint they've made you, just
like Mary down in Mexico on All Souls' Day.
You chose your words from mouths of babes got lost in
the wood. Cool junk booting madmen, street minded girls in Harlem
howling at night. What a tear stained shock of the world, you've
gone away without saying goodbye.
|
