Art is a never-ending dance of illusions.
Back seat drivers don’t know the feel of the wheel but they sho’ know how to make a fuss" Bob Dylan/Bonnie Raitt, “Let’s Keep It Between Us,” 1982
In another lifetime she must have owned the world, or been faithfully wed to some righteous king who wrote psalms beside moonlit streams.
But now we got weapons Of the chemical dust If fire them we're forced to Then fire them we must One push of the button And a shot the world wide And you never ask questions When God's on your side
Rumble is the best instrumental ever.
Let me drink from the waters where the mountain streams flood Let the smell of wildflowers flow free through my blood Let me sleep in your meadows with the green grassy leaves Let me walk down the highway with my brother in peace Let me die in my footsteps Before I go down under the ground.
If you don't have to write songs, why write them? I've got enough where I don't really feel the urge to write anything additional.
You can have your youth It'll rot before your eyes
If I had the stars from the darkest night and the diamonds from the deepest ocean, I'd forsake them all for your sweet kiss, for that's all I'm wishin' to be ownin'.
You might be a rock and roll addict prancing on the stage. You might have drugs at your command, women in a cage.
Feel like a broke-down engine, ain't got no drivin' wheel. You all been down and lonesome, you know just how a poor man feels.
We never thought we could ever get old.
God bless them pretty women, I wish they was mine, Their breath is as sweet, The dew on the vine.
For them that think death's honesty won't fall upon them naturally life sometimes must get lonely.
All the tired horses in the sun How'm I supposed to get any ridin' done? Hmm.
The enemy is subtle, how be it we are so deceived, when truth's in our hearts and we still don't believe.
I've never gone for having a great voice, for cultivating one. I'm still not doing it now.
You had no faith to lose and you know it.
How many times must a man look up, before he can see the sky?
There is a house in New Orleans they call the Rising Sun, and it's been the ruin of many a poor boy and God I know I'm one.
I'm in love with my second cousin.
Gold will never free your father, the price, my dear, is you instead.
Can't keep track of it no more, son's becoming husbands to their mothers, and old men turning your daughters into whores.
Sold my guitar to the baker's son for a few crumbs and a place to hide.
Wiggle 'til you're high, wiggle 'til you're higher, wiggle 'til you vomit fire.
"America was founded on the backs of slaves."
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