James Dean

I was on the 'Super Chief' in nineteen fifty-three, On my way to Hollywood, to set the spirit free; And though I didn't know it then, I guess I couldn't see, How far I'd go in Hollywood, from nineteen fifty-three. But going back a little while, I made the New York scene, I met a guy who didn't smile, who said "My name's James Dean"; I listened to the words he said, the kid was so alive, How could I know he'd end up dead, in nineteen fifty-five? We hung around in clubs and bars, and met some crazy 'Dudes', Who thought they'd all be movie stars, but didn't have the moves; Not like my good friend Jimmy, who knew he'd be the best, Along with Clift and Brando, much better than the rest. In 'fifty-two' I loved New York, and James Dean made it great, sometimes we'd sit around and talk, until the hour got late; Then walk around the city, and take in every scene, The ugly and the pretty, with my best friend James Dean. One day Jimmy said "You're good, you write terrific stuff, Why don't you go to Hollywood, I know you're good enough, And maybe in the years to come, you'll write a script for me", But in a sad September sun, I knew it couldn't be. The year was nineteen fifty-five, I turned the radio on, Jimmy, are you still alive? I can't believe you're gone; But then I read the headline, the legend had begun, And Jim went home before his time, in that September sun.