|
Third Week in the |
|
Chelseaby |
|
Jorma Kaukonen |
|
Sometimes |
|
I feel like i am leaving life behind |
|
My hands are moving faster than the movement of my mind |
|
Thoughts and generations of my dreams are yet unborn |
|
So we go on moving trying to make this image real |
|
I hope that |
|
I will find them 'fore my moving gets too worn |
|
Straining every nerve not knowing what we really feel |
|
If only I could live to see the dawning of the dawn |
|
Straining every nerve ending and everybody sees |
|
That what they read in the |
|
Rolling Stone has really come to be |
|
And trying to avoid a taste of that reality |
|
Showed to me a face |
|
I didn't know at all |
|
On an early |
|
New York mornin' a mirror in the hall |
|
When I looked into the mouth there was nothing left inside |
|
Lines were drawn around a pair of eyes that opened wide |
|
So I walked into the little room and whistled like a sigh |
|
As dawn light closed around me my head was still in gear |
|
Thinking thoughts of playing more and singing loud and clear |
|
Trying to reach a friend somewhere and make that person smile |
|
Maybe pull myself away from that old lonesome mile |
|
That often comes to haunt me in the morning |
|
All my friends keep telling me that it would be a shame |
|
To break up such a grand success and tear apart a name |
|
Emptiness ain't where it's at and neither's feeling pain |
|
Time is getting late now and the sun is getting low |
|
But all I know is what |
|
I feel whenever |
|
I'm not playin' |
|
Well now what is going to happen now is anybody's guess |
|
If I can't spend my time with love |
|
I guess I need a rest |
|
And sunshine's waiting for me a little further down the road |
|
My body's getting tired of carryin' another's load |