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