Little Jack, he’s on his own

In the wild American night

Chasing down the mystic road

Trying to keep his star in sight

He last saw Neal three days ago

When he shot his arrow into the sun

Now his magic shirt is hanging down

His mouth is half undone

 

And the kids in all the mid west towns

Are hanging on his tongue

Jack yawns and gapes and scratches hard

Says “Jesus but it’s good to be young

I’m browner than an Indian Brave

I’m sweeter than a stream

And I’ll take all year to get back home

Before I wake up from this dream

 

I’m tripped out, soaked and own my own

Messed up wild and sad

And I don’t miss what I don’t get

Because I never wanted what I had

 

I don’t miss what I don’t get

Because I never wanted what I had.”