Good rules to live by... When yer head gets twisted and yer mind grows numb When you think youre too old, too young, too smart or too dumb When yer laggin behind an losin yer pace In a slow-motion crawl of lifes busy race No matter what yer doing if you start givin up If the wine dont come to the top of yer cup If the winds got you sideways with with one hand holdin on And the other starts slipping and the feeling is gone And yer train engine fire needs a new spark to catch it And the woods easy findin but yer lazy to fetch it And yer sidewalk starts curlin and the street gets too long And you start walkin backwards though you know its wrong And lonesome comes up as down goes the day And tomorrows mornin seems so far away And you feel the reins from yer pony are slippin And yer rope is a-slidin cause yer hands are a-drippin And yer sun-decked desert and evergreen valleys Turn to broken down slums and trash-can alleys And yer sky cries water and yer drain pipes a-pourin And the lightnins a-flashing and the thunders a-crashin And the windows are rattlin and breakin and the roof tops a-shakin And yer whole worlds a-slammin and bangin And yer minutes of sun turn to hours of storm And to yourself you sometimes say I never knew it was gonna be this way Why didnt they tell me the day I was born And you start gettin chills and yer jumping from sweat And youre lookin for somethin you aint quite found yet And yer knee-deep in the dark water with yer hands in the air And the whole worlds a-watchin with a window peek stare And yer good gal leaves and shes long gone a-flying And yer heart feels sick like fish when theyre fryin And yer jackhammer falls from yer hand to yer feet And you need it badly but it lays on the street And yer bells bangin loudly but you cant hear its beat And you think yer ears might a been hurt Or yer eyesve turned filthy from the sight-blindin dirt And you figured you failed in yesterdays rush When you were faked out an fooled white facing a four flush And all the time you were holdin three queens And its makin you mad, its makin you mean Like in the middle of Life magazine Bouncin around a pinball machine And theres something on yer mind you wanna be saying That somebody someplace oughta be hearin But its trapped on yer tongue and sealed in yer head And it bothers you badly when your layin in bed And no matter how you try you just cant say it And yer scared to yer soul you just might forget it And yer eyes get swimmy from the tears in yer head And yer pillows of feathers turn to blankets of lead And the lions mouth opens and yer staring at his teeth And his jaws start closin with you underneath And yer flat on your belly with yer hands tied behind And you wish youd never taken that last detour sign And you say to yourself just what am I doin On this road Im walkin, on this trail Im turnin On this curve Im hanging On this pathway Im strolling, in the space Im taking In this air Im inhaling Am I mixed up too much, am I mixed up too hard Why am I walking, where am I running What am I saying, what am I knowing On this guitar Im playing, on this banjo Im frailin On this mandolin Im strummin, in the song Im singin In the tune Im hummin, in the words Im writin In the words that Im thinkin In this ocean of hours Im all the time drinkin Who am I helping, what am I breaking What am I giving, what am I taking But you try with your whole soul best Never to think these thoughts and never to let Them kind of thoughts gain ground Or make yer heart pound But then again you know why theyre around Just waiting for a chance to slip and drop down Cause sometimes you hearem when the night times comes creeping And you fear that they might catch you a-sleeping And you jump from yer bed, from yer last chapter of dreamin And you cant remember for the best of yer thinking If that was you in the dream that was screaming And you know that its something special youre needin And you know that theres no drug thatll do for the healin And no liquor in the land to stop yer brain from bleeding And you need something special Yeah, you need something special all right You need a fast flyin train on a tornado track To shoot you someplace and shoot you back You need a cyclone wind on a stream engine howler Thats been banging and booming and blowing forever That knows yer troubles a hundred times over You need a Greyhound bus that dont bar no race That wont laugh at yer looks Your voice or your face And by any number of bets in the book Will be rollin long after the bubblegum craze You need something to open up a new door To show you something you seen before But overlooked a hundred times or more You need something to open your eyes You need something to make it known That its you and no one else that owns That spot that yer standing, that space that youre sitting That the world aint got you beat That it aint got you licked It cant get you crazy no matter how many Times you might get kicked You need something special all right You need something special to give you hope But hopes just a word That maybe you said or maybe you heard On some windy corner round a wide-angled curve But thats what you need man, and you need it bad And yer trouble is you know it too good Cause you look an you start getting the chills Cause you cant find it on a dollar bill And it aint on Macys window sill And it aint on no rich kids road map And it aint in no fat kids fraternity house And it aint made in no Hollywood wheat germ And it aint on that dimlit stage With that half-wit comedian on it Ranting and raving and taking yer money And you thinks its funny No you cant find it in no night club or no yacht club And it aint in the seats of a supper club And sure as hell youre bound to tell That no matter how hard you rub You just aint a-gonna find it on yer ticket stub No, and it aint in the rumors peoplere tellin you And it aint in the pimple-lotion people are sellin you And it aint in no cardboard-box house Or down any movie stars blouse And you cant find it on the golf course And Uncle Remus cant tell you and neither can Santa Claus And it aint in the cream puff hair-do or cotton candy clothes And it aint in the dime store dummies or bubblegum goons And it aint in the marshmallow noises of the chocolate cake voices That come knockin and tappin in Christmas wrappin Sayin aint I pretty and aint I cute and look at my skin Look at my skin shine, look at my skin glow Look at my skin laugh, look at my skin cry When you cant even sense if they got any insides These people so pretty in their ribbons and bows No youll not now or no other day Find it on the doorsteps made out-a paper mache¥ And inside it the people made of molasses That every other day buy a new pair of sunglasses And it aint in the fifty-star generals and flipped-out phonies Whod turn yuh in for a tenth of a penny Who breathe and burp and bend and crack And before you can count from one to ten Do it all over again but this time behind yer back My friend The ones that wheel and deal and whirl and twirl And play games with each other in their sand-box world And you cant find it either in the no-talent fools That run around gallant And make all rules for the ones that got talent And it aint in the ones that aint got any talent but think they do And think theyre foolin you The ones who jump on the wagon Just for a while cause they know its in style To get their kicks, get out of it quick And make all kinds of money and chicks And you yell to yourself and you throw down yer hat Sayin, Christ do I gotta be like that Aint there no one here that knows where Im at Aint there no one here that knows how I feel Good God Almighty THAT STUFF AINT REAL No but that aint yer game, it aint even yer race You cant hear yer name, you cant see yer face You gotta look some other place And where do you look for this hope that yer seekin Where do you look for this lamp thats a-burnin Where do you look for this oil well gushin Where do you look for this candle thats glowin Where do you look for this hope that you know is there And out there somewhere And your feet can only walk down two kinds of roads Your eyes can only look through two kinds of windows Your nose can only smell two kinds of hallways You can touch and twist And turn two kinds of doorknobs You can either go to the church of your choice Or you can go to Brooklyn State Hospital Youll find God in the church of your choice Youll find Woody Guthrie in Brooklyn State Hospital And though its only my opinion I may be right or wrong Youll find them both In the Grand Canyon At sundown ~bob dylan
Posted on: Sun, 28 Sep 2014 03:01:56 +0000
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