Expecting to Fly
Jim Messina, Bruce Palmer (bass), Dewey Martin (drums), Neil Young, Stephen Stills
We're all wired into a survival trip now. No more of the speed
that fueled the sixties. That was the fatal flaw in Tim Leary's trip. He crashed
around America, selling "consciousness expansion" without ever giving a thought
to the grim meat-hook realities that were lying in wait for all those people who
took him seriously. All those pathetically eager acid freaks who thought they
could buy peace and understanding for three bucks a hit. But their loss and
failure is ours, too. What Leary took down with him was the central illusion of
a whole lifestyle that he helped create. A generation of permanent cripples,
failed seekers, who never understood the essential old-mystic fallacy of the
acid culture: the desperate assumption that somebody, or at least some force, is
tending the light at the end of the tunnel.
Hunter S Thompson, Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas
There you stood on the edge of your feather,
Expecting to fly.
While I laughed, I wondered whether
I could wave goodbye,
Knowin' that you'd gone.
By the summer it was healing,
We had said goodbye.
All the years we'd spent with feeling
Ended with a cry,
Babe, ended with a cry,
Babe, ended with a cry.
I tried so hard to stand
As I stumbled and fell to the ground.
So hard to laugh as I fumbled
And reached for the love I found,
Knowin' it was gone.
If I never lived without you,
Now you know I'd die.
If I never said I loved you,
Now you know I'd try,
Babe, now you know I'd try.
Babe, now you know I'd try,