On the Road

i went out with a coat and a hunger, maps creased wrong in my shaking hand, the whole world talking in steel and engines, the whole crazy self just slipping its stand. dean hit the room like sudden mountain weather, all quicksilver, frantic talk, and a flame, his eyes already looking somewhere elsewhere, as if a total nowhere was a sacred name. the only people for me are the mad ones, mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, on the road, on the road, where the hidden road keeps opening up the grave. great burning sails of mercy and jazz, a reckless going that will not be stayed, on the road, on the road, we break, and stay unafraid. night after night the deep states slipped past us, rooms, grey stations, a thinning dirty chain, frantic talk of beans, benzedrine, and distance, the wild bright ache inside a boiling brain. every single town threw back a little mirror, every cold goodbye made another spark, and the windshield held our pale young faces, just like a heavy dark inside the dark. the only people for me are the mad ones, mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, on the road, on the road, where the hidden road keeps opening up the grave. great burning sails of mercy and jazz, a reckless going that will not be stayed, on the road, on the road, we break, and stay unafraid. the road goes on. the road goes on.