Dogs in the moonlight
Stoned out on Kerouac
Trying to get it just right
A phone in a dim-lit room
Rings out forever
In a time that was still too soon
But why should he care
He had a rambling soul
He drank a bottle of cheap wine
Turned up his collar to the cold
And waited – he waited for a sign
Fueled by amphetamine
And visions of beauty
As far as the eye could see
Was all that he strived for
A waitress in Tennessee
Said he looked like Jesus
He silenced her raging sea
Then walked out the door
He had a rambling soul
He drank a bottle of cheap wine
Turned up his collar to the cold
And waited – he waited for a sign
Under the open sky
He stands with his eyes closed
If anyone asked him why
He would not know
He’s lost in America
He’s hell-bent for no place
A rusty harmonica
That won’t even play
He’s lost in America…
I’d drive most days from Oakmont to my part-time job in East Liberty. The images along the way (train tracks, river, etc.) led to those first couple of lines. I had read a biography about Jack Kerouac and had a volume of his collected works on the kitchen table in my apartment. That’s how he showed up. There might also have been a harmonica laying around. Beyond that, the song just kind of wrote itself.
Looking at it now, I believe I was calling myself out (or attempting to, at least) in what is basically a brutal little character sketch about a shallow young dude pretending to be deep. Upturned collar. Bottle of Mad Dog wine. Jesus complex. Unfortunately, I did not then possess the tools to comprehend this little self-dialogue and failed to heed my own warnings.
When I sing the song these days, I make a point of keeping my eyes open at the top of the last verse (Under the open sky…). Though I can’t go back in time and pick up the phone in the dim-lit room or better preserve that old harmonica, I am determined to stand in contrast to the shallow boy I was. I am determined to see the open sky and to open my heart in response to it.
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