Bob Dylan

Last Thoughts on Woody Guthrie

  folk  singer-songwriter  classic rock  rock  folk rock
1,666 3 часа назад

Текст песни Bob Dylan - Last Thoughts on Woody Guthrie

Bob Dylan - Last Thoughts on Woody Guthrie слова песни




When yer head gets twisted and yer mind grows numbWhen you think youre too old, too young, too smart or too dumbWhen yer laggin behind an losin yer paceIn a slow-motion crawl of lifes busy raceNo matter what yer doing if you start givin upIf the wine dont come to the top of yer cupIf the winds got you sideways with with one hand holdin onAnd the other starts slipping and the feeling is goneAnd yer train engine fire needs a new spark to catch itAnd the woods easy findin but yer lazy to fetch itAnd yer sidewalk starts curlin and the street gets too longAnd you start walkin backwards though you know its wrongAnd lonesome comes up as down goes the dayAnd tomorrows mornin seems so far awayAnd you feel the reins from yer pony are slippinAnd yer rope is a-slidin cause yer hands are a-drippinAnd yer sun-decked desert and evergreen valleysTurn to broken down slums and trash-can alleysAnd yer sky cries water and yer drain pipes a-pourinAnd the lightnins a-flashing and the thunders a-crashinAnd the windows are rattlin and breakin and the roof tops a-shakinAnd yer whole worlds a-slammin and banginAnd yer minutes of sun turn to hours of stormAnd to yourself you sometimes say"i never knew it was gonna be this wayWhy didnt they tell me the day I was born"And you start gettin chills and yer jumping from sweatAnd youre lookin for somethin you aint quite found yetAnd yer knee-deep in the dark water with yer hands in the airAnd the whole worlds a-watchin with a window peek stareAnd yer good gal leaves and shes long gone a-flyingAnd yer heart feels sick like fish when theyre fryinAnd yer jackhammer falls from yer hand to yer feetAnd you need it badly but it lays on the streetAnd yer bells bangin loudly but you cant hear its beatAnd you think yer ears might a been hurtOr yer eyesve turned filthy from the sight-blindin dirtAnd you figured you failed in yesterdays rushWhen you were faked out an fooled white facing a four flushAnd all the time you were holdin three queensAnd its makin you mad, its makin you meanLike in the middle of life magazineBouncin around a pinball machineAnd theres something on yer mind you wanna be sayingThat somebody someplace oughta be hearinBut its trapped on yer tongue and sealed in yer headAnd it bothers you badly when your layin in bedAnd no matter how you try you just cant say itAnd yer scared to yer soul you just might forget itAnd yer eyes get swimmy from the tears in yer headAnd yer pillows of feathers turn to blankets of leadAnd the lions mouth opens and yer staring at his teethAnd his jaws start closin with you underneathAnd yer flat on your belly with yer hands tied behindAnd you wish youd never taken that last detour signAnd you say to yourself just what am I doinOn this road Im walkin, on this trail Im turninOn this curve Im hangingOn this pathway Im strolling, in the space Im takingIn this air Im inhalingAm I mixed up too much, am I mixed up too hardWhy am I walking, where am I runningWhat am I saying, what am I knowingOn this guitar Im playing, on this banjo Im frailinOn this mandolin Im strummin, in the song Im singinIn the tune Im hummin, in the words Im writinIn the words that Im thinkinIn this ocean of hours Im all the time drinkinWho am I helping, what am I breakingWhat am I giving, what am I takingBut you try with your whole soul bestNever to think these thoughts and never to letThem kind of thoughts gain groundOr make yer heart poundBut then again you know why theyre aroundJust waiting for a chance to slip and drop down"cause sometimes you hearem when the night times comes creepingAnd you fear that they might catch you a-sleepingAnd you jump from yer bed, from yer last chapter of dreaminAnd you cant remember for the best of yer thinkingIf that was you in the dream that was screamingAnd you know that its something special youre needinAnd you know that theres no drug thatll do for the healinAnd no liquor in the land to stop yer brain from bleedingAnd you need something specialYeah, you need something special all rightYou need a fast flyin train on a tornado trackTo shoot you someplace and shoot you backYou need a cyclone wind on a stream engine howlerThats been banging and booming and blowing foreverThat knows yer troubles a hundred times overYou need a greyhound bus that dont bar no raceThat wont laugh at yer looksYour voice or your faceAnd by any number of bets in the bookWill be rollin long after the bubblegum crazeYou need something to open up a new doorTo show you something you seen beforeBut overlooked a hundred times or moreYou need something to open your eyesYou need something to make it knownThat its you and no one else that ownsThat spot that yer standing, that space that youre sittingThat the world aint got you beatThat it aint got you lickedIt cant get you crazy no matter how manyTimes you might get kickedYou need something special all rightYou need something special to give you hopeBut hopes just a wordThat maybe you said or maybe you heardOn some windy corner round a wide-angled curveBut thats what you need man, and you need it badAnd 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 billAnd it aint on macys window sillAnd it aint on no rich kids road mapAnd it aint in no fat kids fraternity houseAnd it aint made in no hollywood wheat germAnd it aint on that dimlit stageWith that half-wit comedian on itRanting and raving and taking yer moneyAnd you thinks its funnyNo you cant find it in no night club or no yacht clubAnd it aint in the seats of a supper clubAnd sure as hell youre bound to tellThat no matter how hard you rubYou just aint a-gonna find it on yer ticket stubNo, and it aint in the rumors peoplere tellin youAnd it aint in the pimple-lotion people are sellin youAnd it aint in no cardboard-box houseOr down any movie stars blouseAnd you cant find it on the golf courseAnd uncle remus cant tell you and neither can santa clausAnd it aint in the cream puff hair-do or cotton candy clothesAnd it aint in the dime store dummies or bubblegum goonsAnd it aint in the marshmallow noises of the chocolate cake voicesThat come knockin and tappin in christmas wrappinSayin aint I pretty and aint I cute and look at my skinLook at my skin shine, look at my skin glowLook at my skin laugh, look at my skin cryWhen you cant even sense if they got any insidesThese people so pretty in their ribbons and bowsNo youll not now or no other dayFind it on the doorsteps made out-a paper mache? br> and inside it the people made of molassesThat every other day buy a new pair of sunglassesAnd it aint in the fifty-star generals and flipped-out phoniesWhod turn yuh in for a tenth of a pennyWho breathe and burp and bend and crackAnd before you can count from one to tenDo it all over again but this time behind yer backMy friendThe ones that wheel and deal and whirl and twirlAnd play games with each other in their sand-box worldAnd you cant find it either in the no-talent foolsThat run around gallantAnd make all rules for the ones that got talentAnd it aint in the ones that aint got any talent but think they doAnd think theyre foolin youThe ones who jump on the wagonJust for a while cause they know its in styleTo get their kicks, get out of it quickAnd make all kinds of rnoney and chicksAnd you yell to yourself and you throw down yer hatSayin, "christ do I gotta be like thatAint there no one here that knows where Im atAint there no one here that knows how I feelGood God almightyThat stuff aint real"No but that aint yer game, it aint even yer raceYou cant hear yer name, you cant see yer faceYou gotta look some other placeAnd where do you look for this hope that yer seekinWhere do you look for this lamp thats a-burninWhere do you look for this oil well gushinWhere do you look for this candle thats glowinWhere do you look for this hope that you know is thereAnd out there somewhereAnd your feet can only walk down two kinds of roadsYour eyes can only look through two kinds of windowsYour nose can only smell two kinds of hallwaysYou can touch and twistAnd turn two kinds of doorknobsYou can either go to the church of your choiceOr you can go to brooklyn state hospitalYoull find God in the church of your choiceYoull find woody guthrie in brooklyn state hospitalAnd though its only my opinionI may be right or wrongYoull find them bothIn the grand canyonAt sundown

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