I need all kinds of songs - fast ones, slow ones, minor key, ballads, rumbas - and they all get juggled around during a live show. I've been trying for years to come up with songs that have the feeling of a Shakespearean drama, so I'm always starting with that.
On the cliffs of your wild cat charms I'm riding.
Passion is a young man's game. Young people can be passionate. Older people gotta be more wise.
To preach of peace and brotherhood, oh what might be the cost? A man he did it long ago, and they hung him on a cross.
Like the lion tears the flesh off a man, so can a woman who passes herself off as a male.
How many roads must a man walk down Before your can call him a man? . . . The answer, my friend, is blowin' in the wind, The answer is blowin' in the wind.
She had bullets in her eyes and they fired.
Praise be to Nero's Neptune The Titanic sails at dawn And everybody's shouting "Which Side Are You On?" And Ezra Pound and T.S. Eliot Fighting in the captain's tower While calypso singers laugh at them And fishermen hold flowers.
In the home of the brave, Jefferson turning over in his grave.
In the fury of the moment/ I can see the Master's hand In every leaf that trembles, in/ every grain of sand.
You should always take the best from the past, leave the worst back there and go forward into the future.
There would be brilliant songs, but, as [Bob] Dylan admitted on the recent Martin Scorsese documentary about him (No Direction Home), the specific muse that inspired "It's Alright Ma" would not return.
There are a lot of places I like, but I like New Orleans better.
Idiot wind, blowing every time you move your teeth. You're an idiot babe, it's a wonder that you still know how to breathe.
Your old road is rapidly aging. Please get out of the new one If you can't lend your hand, For the times they are a-changin'.
It's hard to speculate what tomorrow may bring.
Chaos is a friend of mine.
In the dime stores and bus stations, people talk of situations, read books, repeat quotations, draw conclusions on the wall.
Your heart is like the ocean, mysterious and dark.
Everyone of them words rang true and glowed like burning coal, pouring off every page like it was written in my soul from me to you.
Disillusioned words like bullets bark as human gods aim for their mark.
If not for you, winter wouldn't hold no spring, couldn't hear a robin sing. I just wouldn't have a clue, if not for you.
For the loser now Will be later to win
Even I don't know what I'm saying most of the time.
When somethin's not right it's wrong.
"America was founded on the backs of slaves."
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