I don't think you can even hear me anyway, can you hear me now? But anyway, tonight also I wrote a song called On The Road. I'm just reading what I wrote all night, there are better things coming than what I wrote all night. Coming straight from the mind to the voice, with no hand intervening. Left New York 1949, to go across the country that her dad blamed I'm. In Montana, in Coco Falls, found my father in the Gamble Hall. Father, father, where have you been? You've been away the world since I was only ten. Dear son, he said, don't worry about me, I'm about to die of leprosy. Across the Mississippi, across the Tennessee, across the Nile, Briara, home I'll never be. Home in Onondera, home in Turkey, Apalachicola, home I'll never be. Better or for worse, thick and thin, like being married to the little woman. God loved me just like I loved him, I want to do the same, just for him. Worms eat away, but the worry warts'll win. The worms eat away, but the worry warts'll win. So I left Montana on an old freight train, the night my father died in the cold, cold rain. Road to Opelousas, road to Wounded Knee, road to Ogallala, home I'll never be. Home I'll never be. That's right.