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