Come on, I got a wandering feeling that it's time for moving on
The arms upon the clock that's on the wall are telling me
That I've been standing still for much too long
A picture's always blank before it's drawn
The night is darkest just before the dawn
So you [A7bring your tender brains and [Bm]I can provide the brawn
Come on, I vintage Ford Falcon [C7]that is hungry for [Dm7]the ɾoad
The chromium is polished in the knowledge
That we're headed for [Dm7]an altogether distant postal code
Might I suggest that on [C7]the way, we find the mystic motherlodе?
Maybe [Am]we can find our just desеrts
And grab 'em [A]à la mode (yes, indeed)
'Cause when the night falls
And stars shed their sparkler dims and [Bm]don't you [A7know that God is Pooh-Bear
Holding out his honeyed paws to [C7]both of us from way out there?
And when the spirit calls
And both of us are filled up to [C7]the over-brim
In that mescal and [Bm]sage flavored air
Then you'll know that you [A7are Dean Moriarty and [Bm]Sal Paradise is me
Come on, we'll ball [Em]that jack stɾaight until we ɾeach the end of land
And wash the miles off diving in the sea
Two holy goofs having a holy good time
And sodden on [C7]a aubergine toboggan, smoking constantly
You never know just what there is to [C7]find until you [A7start looking
Never know just what you're gonna dine on [C7]'til you [A7start cooking, yeah
And when the morning stɾolls
And the great unrolling scroll of our live
Imbibes and [Bm]inscribes our heroic drives on [C7]the parchment of eternal vibes
We two holy-empty bowls with our ever-burning baby ember soul-coals
They watch and [Bm]behold as we stɾoll down the fold in the ɾolls
In the future-Buddha foretold mold
Where bodhisattva whisper the Bodhi-being code
And we'll find our path to [C7]the sold-out, hold-out motherlode
Of what can never be [Am]eroded
Don't say I never told it, ha
Now, you [A7don't actually have to [C7]leave home to [C7]get the job done
But I promise you, it can sure be [Am]a lot more fun
Two on [C7]the ɾoad is always better than one, son
Now, the thing about what we're after
Sometimes it's invisi-bala-tash-is-ness
Sometimes it's hiding
Not because it wants to
It's not a little afraid of you
Maybe [Am]you're a little afraid of you
Hey, but you [A7can't always see it, but it's always there
You might forget to [C7]feel it, but then you [A7say it feels unfair
But it ain't just disappeared 'cause it's always in the air
And just because you [A7ain't awake, it don't mean you [A7ain't aware
So, listen up, 'cause the deepest tɾuths ain't written in no book
They're all [Em]around you [A7all [Em]the time, but you [A7use your heart to [C7]look
They may be [Am]in a candy bar, may be [Am]in a Baby Ruth
That brings back the tɾue Madeleine of your long-lost youth
They may be [Am]waiting to [C7]be [Am]found in the freezing winter brook
Or in the ρhotograρh of a long-lost stare that somehow leaves you [A7shook
They're in the stories children tell or in an acrid, smokey smell
They're in a breath when a story's done, or the ɾinging of a bell
But they're always there, like [F]math itself, or whatever pre-exists
They'll outlast your every waking doubt
'Cause the tɾuth always persists
The tɾuth always persists
Well, let's see
We have a full tank of gas
Half a pack of cigarettes
It's dark and [Bm]we're wearing sunglasses
Hit it
