Select language to translate this lyric
Thick as a Bostock brick, spun as a feather.
Still with no name to his name â and not much money to it either.
Cop light through the broken blinds, alarm clock starts its stutter.
Little John will awake at once, violently throw back the covers,
shatter one word with another
Will you be gone tomorrow?
Bolt up at the dawn-break door, rumble of a dumptruck.
Gutter gait down a wind-swept street â incantation for a late bus dumb luck
No such dumb luck!
Sound as an ancient schedule, ringing of a church bell.
Shot off, got off, caught off, bought off â time down a wish well.
You keep blowing higher â youâre the everlasting kite.
Youâll be gone tomorrow, but your not gone tonight.
âHey â hey, look! Little John alive at long last, burns bright like a summer!â
Throws his shoulder up against the mold inside the old factory for rubber.
Approaching the hour you exchange your labor for your loverâ¦
Then learning in a cold sweat moonlighting in a quintet.
Most minds, most mouths, tongue-tied. Not him, flipped on by the riverside:
slide, slip, shake her a little smile â lit, fired, takes to a sudden sky â
You keep blowing higher â youâre the everlasting kite.
Youâll be gone tomorrow, but your not gone tonight!