And the dark days we are living through
...
We sit here stranded,
though we're all doin' our best to deny it
And Louise holds a handful of rain,
temptin' you to defy it
Lights flicker from the opposite loft
In this room the heat pipes just cough
The country music station plays soft
But there's nothing, really nothing to turn off
...
She's delicate and seems like the mirror
But she just makes it all too concise and too clear
That Johanna's not here
The ghost of 'lectricity howls in the bones of her face
...
2 comments:
The Poet Laureate of Rock and Roll.
Dylan published a compendium of poetry called Tarantula. To this day, I'm convinced that he picked random words out of the dictionary interspersed with the names of a few friends.
Some of his tunes aren't too bad, though.
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