the thunder's rolling in close
and it's beginning to rain,
Jesse James has heisted his last bank
and robbed his last train -
you, sit by the tracks
and look for his return
out of the past and into the future,
finding yourself, is what you most yearn -
why did he remove his guns
and lay them aside that lonely way,
why did he turn his back on the
dirty-little coward, that fateful day -
perhaps he, like you, got tired of the fight,
the running, the hiding, the pretension... the weight.
lacking not an ounce of courage, nor in despair,
he simply, it seems, decided to embrace his unavoidable fate -
the storm's are always around us, and
the years like thunder forever roll by;
Jesse James is gone
but, he'll never die.
Vaya Con Dios mi hermano -
- 'the perfect place to be
in the rain
is in the rain' - Charles Bukowski.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem