Oh, where have you been, my blue-eyed son?
Oh, where have you been, my darling young one?
I've stumbled on the side of twelve misty mountains,
I've walked and I've crawled on six crooked highways,
I've stepped in the middle of seven sad forests,
I've been out in front of a dozen dead oceans,
I've been ten thousand miles in the mouth of a graveyard,
And it's a hard, and it's a hard, it's a hard, and it's a hard,
And it's a hard rain's a-gonna fall.

Oh, what did you see, my blue-eyed son?
Oh, what did you see, my darling young one?
I saw a newborn baby with wild wolves all around it,
I saw a highway of diamonds with nobody on it,
I saw a black branch with blood that kept drippin',
I saw a room full of men with their hammers a-bleedin',
I saw a white ladder all covered with water,
I saw ten thousand talkers whose tongues were all broken,
I saw guns and sharp swords in the hands of young children,
And it's a hard, and it's a hard, it's a hard, it's a hard,
And it's a hard rain's a-gonna fall.

And what did you hear, my blue-eyed son?
And what did you hear, my darling young one?
I heard the sound of a thunder, it roared out a warnin',
Heard the roar of a wave that could drown the whole world,
Heard one hundred drummers whose hands were a-blazin',
Heard ten thousand whisperin' and nobody listenin',
Heard one person starve, I heard many people laughin',
Heard the song of a poet who died in the gutter,
Heard the sound of a clown who cried in the alley,
And it's a hard, and it's a hard, it's a hard, it's a hard,
And it's a hard rain's a-gonna fall.

Oh, who did you meet, my blue-eyed son?
Who did you meet, my darling young one?
I met a young child beside a dead pony,
I met a white man who walked a black dog,
I met a young woman whose body was burning,
I met a young girl, she gave me a rainbow,
I met one man who was wounded in love,
I met another man who was wounded with hatred,
And it's a hard, it's a hard, it's a hard, it's a hard,
It's a hard rain's a-gonna fall.

Oh, what'll you do now, my blue-eyed son?
Oh, what'll you do now, my darling young one?
I'm a-goin' back out 'fore the rain starts a-fallin',
I'll walk to the depths of the deepest black forest,
Where the people are many and their hands are all empty,
Where the pellets of poison are flooding their waters,
Where the home in the valley meets the damp dirty prison,
Where the executioner's face is always well hidden,
Where hunger is ugly, where souls are forgotten,
Where black is the color, where none is the number,
And I'll tell it and think it and speak it and breathe it,
And reflect it from the mountain so all souls can see it,
Then I'll stand on the ocean until I start sinkin',
But I'll know my song well before I start singin',
And it's a hard, it's a hard, it's a hard, it's a hard,
It's a hard rain's a-gonna fall.

I am writing these thoughts down for my friend that
keeps this page about River. I wanted some place to
go to share my thoughts. I wanted a safe place to
remember.

I remember a young guy that was four years older than
me. He spent a lot of time with my brother. They would
listen to music, and discuss their own desires for musical
creativity. River just wanted to play music. I don't
think he cared about making money or winning grammy awards.
He just wanted to play and to bring people together with his
songs. I remember thinking that this guy was a little idealistic.
He was not John Lennon or Mandela, yet he felt this need to
be a missionary with his song. It sounds overblown and dynamic,
but that's how I believe that he felt.

One of their friends had this old, beat-up acoustic guitar
that looked older than all of them put together. River was
always snatching that guitar up and tuning the strings.
He had incredible fingers, long and slender. He was very good
with the guitar. He sounded much younger than his years when
he sang though. His voice never seemed to reach the
maturation that was in his eyes. Although sometimes
his voice had a rough edge to it. It made him sound 
tired or wordly. I often wondered what went on in his head.
He was just another guy over at that house, 
and after a while it was so easy to forget that this guy
was an actor, someone that made more money than I would ever make.

Towards the end of his life, we saw him less. Maybe my brother
saw more of him, but he never came around again. He did one time
to drop off a video for my brother. He didn't smile or come in, he
just handed it to me and left. I thought he had changed into an 
arrogant snob, someone who thought that he was better than me.
Little did I know that he must have been falling apart inside.

I feel so bad, and disgusted with myself for not giving him the
benefit of the doubt. I feel stupid for automatically assuming
that he was no longer that nice guy that hung out here. I know
that I thought that since he was rich and a star, that there
would be nothing that he should be upset about. I was so naive.

I hope wherever he is now, he can forgive me, and forgive all the
other people that thought the same things about him. River was
just like all of us on this earth, some parts that were scared
and broken, and some parts that were tired and angry. One part
missionary, but always human, painfully human.