(J-P. Maunick / G. Sanctuary / J. Kerouac) A broken man, bottle in his hand Wishes he could stop the voices in his head He walked the line, till the line got so fine He didn't even know he'd fallen on the other side One minute hot, the next you're not And the world that you know becomes a stranger tomorrow Just like the man with a bottle in his hand Who wishes he could stop the voices in his head So we travel on the road And we don't know where we're coming from We travel on the open road And we don't know where we're going to I know a man eyes always closed Lost in his dreams, where it all came to pass Up on a stand, like Dizzy and the band Where the beat always drops and the music never stops There came a day when he finally awoke To find the line broke and his dreams all sailed away I know a man, bottle in his hand Wishes he could stop the voices in his head So we travel on the road And we don't know where we're coming from We travel on the open road And we don't know where we're going to It's the beat generation, it's BE-AT, It's the beat to keep, it's the beat of the heart, It's being beat and down in the world, And like old time low-down, and like in ancient civilisations, The slave boat men rowing galleys' to a beat, and servants spinning pottery to a beat The faces! There's no face to compare with Jack Mingus who's up on the bandstand now With a coloured trumpeter who out blows him wild and dizzy But Jack's face overlooking all the heads in smoke He has a face that looks like everybody you've ever known And seen on the street in your time Sweet face, hard to describe, sad eyes, cruel lips, expectant gleam Swaying to the beat, tall, majestical Waiting in front of the drug-store, swaying to the beat