Black Muddy River (by Jerry Garcia, Robert Hunter)
When the last rose of summer pricks my finger,
And the hot sun chills me to the bone,
When I can’t hear the song for the singer,
And I can’t tell my pillow from a stone,
I will walk alone by the black muddy river,
And sing me a song of my own.
Complete lyrics here.
Complete field notes appear here.
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…rosy reflections of celestial vapor appeared, and I said, ‘God, I love you’ and looked to the sky and really meant it. ‘I have fallen in love with you, God. Take care of us all, one way or the other.'”
Jack Kerouac, The Dharma Bums (1958). Read it here.
