One day I sang along to a radio (that I had borrowed
from a friend and hoped never to return)
and the stars were never aligned again.
How many hours did I spend in my room dreaming.
My mind swirling.
Playing an air guitar to the strains of the Merseyside lads.
With visions of vinyl revolutions in my mind.
I'm a million miles away yet a heartbeat apart.
On windswept cliffs deep in my soul.
Did he say that the youth have hope
because they're depressed about their future
yet the freedom they have is dangerous?
It's a deliberate purpose to find out what life is all about.
Where's your sense of sin?
Grammatically incorrect phrases
and four-letter words in all the right places.
Subversive in black, hair grease, and rip-torn jeans.
I shout from the rooftops trying to sound urgent.
Taking aim with a six-string, I imagine: love parades under blue skies.
Bearing a heart-shaped box to that supernova in the sky.
I gave my youth to the Beatles
and walked out of that long winding road
to Strawberry Fields the end of my travels.
That's me in front of the gates of the Dakota Apartment.
The driveway behind me is where John Lennon was shot.
The Dakota is at the corner of West 72nd and Central
Park West. Cross the street and you're at Strawberry Fields,
the 2.5 acre landscaped section of the world's most famous
park. Take the B or C train going here.