On the Road, Pt. 1

A broken man, bottle in his hand

Wishes he could stop the voices in his head

He walked the line, till the line got so fine

He didn't even know he'd fallen on the other side

One minute hot, the next you're not

And the world that you know becomes a stranger tomorrow

Just like the man with a bottle in his hand

Who wishes he could stop the voices in his head

So we travel on the road

And we don't know where we're coming from

We travel on the open road

And we don't know where we're going to

I know a man eyes always closed

Lost in his dreams, where it all came to pass

Up on a stand, like Dizzy and the band

Where the beat always drops and the music never stops

There came a day when he finally awoke

To find the line broke and his dreams all sailed away

I know a man, bottle in his hand

Wishes he could stop the voices in his head

So we travel on the road

And we don't know where we're coming from

We travel on the open road

And we don't know where we're going to

It's the beat generation, it's BE-AT,

It's the beat to keep, it's the beat of the heart,

It's being beat and down in the world,

And like old time low-down, and like in ancient civilisations,

The slave boat men rowing galleys' to a beat, and servants spinning pottery to a beat

The faces!

There's no face to compare with Jack Mingus who's up on the bandstand now

With a coloured trumpeter who out blows him wild and dizzy

But Jack's face overlooking all the heads in smoke

He has a face that looks like everybody you've ever known

And seen on the street in your time

Sweet face, hard to describe, sad eyes, cruel lips, expectant gleam

Swaying to the beat, tall, majestical

Waiting in front of the drug-store, swaying to the beat