Kerouac

Kerouac, yeah, Kerouac His words, the words, so many words just All brothers of the same horn Sisters of the saxophone Notes, music, words, a melody A quote, a figure eight, a figure If you listen close to the drummer It's like a mirror and you're invisible Like you're in a back seat No handles on the doors Just a beautiful driver up front She knows where she's going Kerouac, the observation machine Caressing the most pa*sing of scenes With photographic love Pa*sionate photographic love Vulnerable as anyone knew His memories pull shades up and down Doors are not done, telegrams arrive Every morning, something extra [Incomprehensible] Remembering everything Like a snatch of melody A drumbeat remembering, mythologizing So fast, all the time moving The words, the words are drumsticks Pounding out drum beats Like a monk, like a monk, melody With mistakes, yeah, mistakes and sudden inspirations Edges, corners, explosions, convections All fast through a slow motion landscape Yeah, fast through a slow motion landscape