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作词 : Jack Kerouac |
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作曲 : Jack Kerouac |
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A lot of people ask me why do I write that book or any book. |
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All the stories I wrote were true, Cause I believe in what I saw. |
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I was travelling west one time, at the junction of the state line of Colorado, |
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It's arid western one, the state line of poor Utah. |
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I saw in the clouds huge and mass above the theory golden desert of evenfall, |
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Great image of god, with forefinger pointed straight at me. |
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Through halos and rolls and gold falls there will likely existence of |
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gleaming spear in his right hand would say: |
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“Come on boy, go thou across the ground.” |
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“Go moan for man, go moan, go grown, go grown alone.” |
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“Go roll your bones, alone!” |
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“Go down and be little beneath my sight.” |
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“Go down and be my new seed in the part.” |
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“Go thou, go thou, thy hands.” |
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“And this world report you well and truly.” |
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Anyway, I Wrote the book because we're all gonna die. |
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In the loneliness of my life, my father dead,my brother dead,my mother far away, |
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my sister my wife far away. |
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Nothing here but my own tragic hands that once regarded by a world. |
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Sweet attention. |
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But now are left to guide and disappeared their own way |
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into the common dark of our death. |
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Sleeping on me roar bed alone as stupid. |
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With just this one pride in consolation. |
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My heart broke, in the general despair. |
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Opened up inwards to the lord. |
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I made supplication in this dream. |
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So the last page of On The Road I describe how the hero Dean Moriaty |
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come to see me all the way from west coast just for a day or two. |
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Which has been back and forth across the country several times and cars |
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and our adventures over. |
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We're still great friends, we have to go into later phases of our lives. |
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So there you go, Dean Moriaty ragged moth-eaten overcoat he brought |
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especially for the freezing temperature of East, Walked off alone. |
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and the last time I saw of him, |
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he rounded the corner of Seventh Avenue. |
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Eyes on the street ahead |
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and bent to it again. |
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God.~ |
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So in America, when the sun goes down, |
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and I sit on the old broken down river pier |
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watching the long long sky over New Jersey, |
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And sense all that raw land rolls in one unbelievable huge bulge |
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over to the west coast. |
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And all that road going, all the people dreaming the immensity of it. |
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And in lowa I know by now children must be crying in the land |
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where they let the children cry. |
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And tonight the stars'll be out, |
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And don't you know that god is Pooh Bear? |
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The evening star must be dropping and shedding her sparkles dims on the prairie, |
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Which is just before the coming of the complete night that blesses the Earth, |
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Darkens all rivers, cups the peaks and folds the final shore in. |
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And nobody, nobody knows what's gonna happened to anybody besides |
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the forlorn rags of growing old. |
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I think of Dean Moriaty, |
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I even think of Old Dean Moriaty the father we never found. |
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I think of Dean Moriaty, |
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I think of Dean Moriaty. |
