Smoking cigaretts in this bed and watching the ice crusts outside.
That old guitarr melody keeps playing over and over in my head.
In the black pool time was swirling by and my old memories died.
Beautiful as a LP-cover, you are still missed between the sheets of my bed.
So where did Dean go?
I wonder if he'd ever show.
The beat's hero is now gone.
To me he made life seem fun.
The gray lightposts keep swinging in the wind on this quiet midnight street.
And your long black coat almost touch the dirty ground when you remove the hair from your face.
Like the beautiful sumersday when birds sang over the wheet fields, where should we meet?
Crucified when fall comes, there you stand looking up at me, your eyes full of grace.
So where did Dean go?
I wonder if he'd ever show.
The beat's hero is now gone.
To me he made life seem fun.
