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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. The hip flask
slinging
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, 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, you're just like Mary
down in Mexico
on All Souls' Day.
Chose his 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.
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