Real Gone - Bill Nelson

Well some of us are born with the look of the stoned

In every sense, the look of the stones

In all senses, and with no sense at all

Some of us are born to be beat and stoned

I’m lying, but believe me it’s true

You can float my boat, if you really want to

Check my pockets and search my soul

Rock my socks with your rigmarole

Real gone, real gone, really, really gone

Real gone, real gone, really gone

Holy Father, Holy Mother, holy city of holy ghosts

Holy relics, honey coated, golden throated, glorious

Beginner’s mind, sailor in skin-boat

Boho-maestro, tremulous

She had lustre, she wore pearls

I watched her legs, fabulous

Real gone, real gone, really, really gone

Real gone, real gone, really gone

What kind of coffee do dreamers prefer?

Where are the gifts that time confers?

Watches, glasses, soft-pack cigarettes

Hearts on chains and rainy umbrellas

I’m lying, but believe me it’s true

I’ll count your blessings if you want me to

Paint blue sky with blazing paint

Twist and shout, like a beatnik saint

Real gone, real gone

Real gone, real gone