paroles de chanson In the Back of the Real - Allen Ginsberg

Railroad yard in San Jose
I wandered desolate
In front of a tank factory
And sat on a bench
Near the switchman's shack.
A flower lay on the hay on
The asphalt highway
--the dread hay flower
I thought--It had a
Brittle black stem and
Corolla of yellowish dirty
Spikes like Jesus' inchlong
Crown, and a soiled
Dry center cotton tuft
Like a used shaving brush
That's been lying under
The garage for a year.
Yellow, yellow flower, and
Flower of industry,
Tough spiky ugly flower,
Flower nonetheless,
With the form of the great yellow
Rose in your brain!
This is the flower of the World.