Well it seems like the fourth time around

And I'm at it again

With the jangle of Dylan

Growling in my head

And all my Cathy's

Now call themselves Kate's

And my little paradise withers

As shadows bloom at the gates

I speak with Kerouac and Cassady

We've all missed our departure

In a hairy spot at the seminary

Surrounded by devout tonsures

I look for the soul with certainty

Not in those bricks placed level

I seek in the grass for my angels

And to my friends for the devil's

They meander somewhere off into a sumit

And fade into the metallic racket

I know the air will thin and degrees plummet

We pray that they've both brought a jacket

I catch a ride with a pal of mine

I think he knows me well

We laugh, we remember, all crazy smiles

But even now I can never tell

I lay me down on an unkempt bed

To sleep just to dream of you

I thought I understood just one

I thought I thought I knew