Bob Dylan
American folk and rock singer-songwriter, born in Duluth, Minnesota.
Freedom just around the corner for you. But with the truth so far off, what good will it do?
We may not be able to defeat these swine, but we don't have to join them.
I saw ten thousand talkers whose tongues were all broken.
Come all without, come all within,
You'll not see nothing like the mighty Quinn.
The sun's not yellow, it's chicken.
People don't do what they believe in, they just do what's most convenient, then they repent.
But my heart is not weary; it's light and it's free
I've got nothing but affection for those who've sailed with me.
There's no black and white, left and right to me anymore; there's only up and down and down is very close to the ground. And I'm trying to go up without thinking about anything trivial such as politics. They has got nothing to do with it. I'm thinking about the general people and when they get hurt.
Sad-eyed lady of the lowlands,
Where the sad-eyed prophet says that no man comes,
My warehouse eyes, my Arabian drums,
Should I leave them by your gate,
Or, sad-eyed lady, should I wait?
Last night I danced with a stranger, but she just reminded me you were the one.
I'm sittin' on my watch so I can be on time.
Now at midnight all the agents, and the superhuman crew, come out and round up everyone, that knows more then they do.
Take me disappearing, through the smoke rings of my mind, down the foggy ruins of time...
Sometimes you say things in songs even if there's a small chance of them being true. And sometimes you say things that have nothing to do with the truth of what you want to say and sometimes you say things that everyone knows to be true. Then again, at the same time, you're thinking that the only truth on earth is that there is no truth on it. Whatever you are saying, you're saying in a ricky-tick way. There's never time to reflect. You stitched and pressed and packed and drove, is what you did.
I am hanging in the balance of the reality of man. Like every sparrow falling, like every grain of sand.
Morality has nothing in common with politics.
If your mem'ry serves you well, we were gonna meet again and wait, so I think I'll just unpack my bags and sit before it gets too late.
No man alive will come to you with another tale to tell, but you know that we shall meet again, if your mem'ry serves you well.
I lived with them on Montague Street
In a basement down the stairs
There was music in the cafes at night
And revolution in the air.
It's peculiar and unnerving in a way to see so many young people walking around with cellphones and iPods in their ears and so wrapped up in media and video games. It robs them of their self-identity. It's a shame to see them so tuned out to real life. Of course they are free to do that, as if that's got anything to do with freedom. The cost of liberty is high, and young people should understand that before they start spending their life with all those gadgets.
Pointed threats, they bluff with scorn
Suicide remarks are torn
From the fool’s gold mouthpiece the hollow horn
Plays wasted words, proves to warn
That he not busy being born is busy dying.