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Where the workers stand in querulous rows awaiting dislocation |
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I will be there too |
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When you're cashing in your food stamps |
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When you're sleeping in a cattle train |
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I'll be with you |
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Pushing up against the ticket counter window face against the glass |
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Bleeding from the waist and kissing to be chaste |
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It is said that those who will not rest have been cursed |
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To tramp like soldiers through the marshes |
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Or that blessed are the ones who leave the stage |
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Like babies falling fast asleep |
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So I twice am cursed and twice am stuck |
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Affixed to this corner of the earth. |
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That old river keeps on rolling but the old man doesn't see it, |
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He just stands there with his eyes closed |
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Asking "where'd you go?" "where'd you go?" |
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So wherever you may sleep tonight, |
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Be it bed or bedrock, home, or open field: |
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When you begin to yield, then, whatever you have taken as your pillow, |
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May it serve as mine as well. |
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Underneath the weeping willow |
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I will wait for you forever, |
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My eyes forever closed, asking "where'd you go?" "where'd you go?" |
