#CURLIN SO HARD THEY WERE CRACKING

[getoswhore]

Gonna start this off that Easter can be seen a s religious, but this is for Bella so please shush. Also, Bella…hope you like. I know its not as good as yours are, and I am a bit…quite a lot, rusty with my smut writing, but enjoy! I had fun writing it, and as long as you like it, I’m happy, but constructive criticism is always welcomed.

Easter is one of the most celebrated holiday’s in the world. The same could be said for Geto’s family as they were running around setting the table for the newly wedded couple who were married the day before. Suguru and Bella smiled with joy as they saw their closed loved ones help their darling angels set up the table for this marvelous holiday. Little did Bella know, but once everyone went to bed, and they created the adorable children’s Easter baskets, that Suguru had an amazing idea to shower his wife with. He smiled softly at how her beautiful hair was done up, his face lighting up into a small blush as he began to imagine how it would look later that night.

              “Darling?” His deep voice gently wisped over Bella’s ears. “Come here.” He motioned her over with his fingers as he pointed at their children running outside trying to find the most eggs. “Thought you would want a picture taken..” He whispered against her ear, seeming to cause hers to heat up since she felt his chest against her back.

              She always loved that about him, outside of his gorgeous looks, hair, and body, he always seemed to care for their children no matter what the circumstances were. She let out a beautiful smile, one that simply took Suguru’s breath away every time he saw it. “So, it seems, would you mind getting the camera for me?” She asked him while her darling husband let out a chuckle, gently kissing one of her sweet spots along her neck as a way of saying ‘certainly’. He left her admiring the children outside, seeing them gently battle each other, knowing if they were too rough, they would get scolded by either parent.

              Suguru came back and handed over the professional camera to his wife. He always gave her what she wanted and treated her like a Queen. He promised that to her on their wedding day anyway. He watched her take the small photos of their daughter and son running outside. He gently wrapped his bigger arms around her small waist. While she was quite tall, he towered over her by about 6 inches, leaving her to still look up at him. He made her feel dainty, almost like a beautiful flower, or a porcelain doll, to where one touch too strong would break her, even if that was far from the case. He chuckled as she seemed to let out a squeak when his hands gently grabbed her sides, stabling her between his arms.

              “Much better” he whispered, still against her skin, which he could tell she was blushing, while it wasn’t present on her face, by how much heat radiated off her body. He noticed all the small things about her which is why he is always the better husband…and if anyone challenged that, they would go missing within the fortnight. He smiled as she watched their two heathens (adorable babies…but all kids are hellions) together.

              Family dinner came and went, so their babies were put to sleep with the promise of the Easter Bunnies (AKA Brownie) visiting them in their sleep. Suguru chuckled once he realized the two were completely gone, helped Bella finish with the egg hunt of clues and the basket preparation before whisking her off to bed. There the adult version of Easter began.

              “God...you have no idea how long I just wanted to take you and put another one in you..” He whispered along her skin, each word leaving a butterfly kiss as he dipped lower and lower, gently rubbing between her legs as he slowly worked his way down. He ended up having to tie her arms up to keep her hands out of his hair, knowing that made him go feral. He smirked at the small whimpers and whines that left her beautiful mouth, the sounds only fueling him more to continue. “Hush, Love, as much as I would want to hear you beg and scream for me…we do have sleeping children, longing for a sister or brother, sleeping beside us.” He winked as he watched her bashfully try and hide her face.

              He moved one finger around the dampening spot along her panties while moving his middle and ring fingers in almost a teasing way. “Such a good girl~” He purred out and brought her lips down to his for a kiss. (Hear me out) His tongue piercing gently clinking with the roof of her mouth as the two started into a heated make out session. Suguru smirked hearing her whisper his name from her lips, as he continued to rub her lower lips, in hopes of her begging him to stuff her full. “What is it Princess?” He asked, pulling away from the kiss, a trail of saliva left among her lips being the only thing left of him. “I can’t understand you.” His eyes were hooded, looking at her as if she was a meal, and he was starving. He moved his lips, down her neck, to her chest where he played with the fabric of her night shirt. He moved it off of her head—rather ripped it down the middle but he would always by a new one so who cares—and gently moved his mouth to the valley of her breasts. He gently cupped one while he began making out with the other.

              He moved his mouth to the other one, his fingers playing with her nipples, almost in a teasingly slow motion, much like what his mouth was doing. He chuckled lowly at how her eyes looked at him, begging for him to fix her, to please her, but he decided to take his time. His tongue ring paying extra attention to each one of her nipples when his mouth was on it, all while his other hand played with her dripping cunt. He smirked against her skin when he felt the slick get even worse. “Awe, Baby..” He whispered among her skin, that was starting to have a small sheen of sweat appear, though the difference between that and saliva was questionable, not that Suguru minded.

              He continued his path down to her cunt, one that was still covered by her adorable panties. They were not going to be in Suguru’s way much longer, though. The sheer smell of her was causing his brain to turn slowly into mush. “Hm~ seems you always get so responsive..” He whispered, more to himself that to her. He watched as her body moved with the way she panted, the soft rising and falling of her chest, his eyes seem to darken. He was finally fed up and completely ripped her panties off of her clothed pussy. He took a sharp inhale, pocketing the ripped garments into his back pants pocket. He quickly dove his nose there and took a deep whiff, a small groan leaving his lips at how heavenly she smelled.

              Suguru, teasingly, began to kitten lick, only for a few moments later, began to fully devour her sobbing cunt. His licks were aggressive, almost that of a dehydrated animal, and he was beginning to leave bruises on her pretty thighs. Bella could do nothing but take it. Her arms still trapped along her head as she withered and squirmed from what her husband was doing to her, all while she tried to keep quiet to not wake her beautiful children. Bella’s eyes began rolling back as her body shivered along his lips when he began paying extra attention on her little clit. Suguru’s eyes looked up at her through the valley, watching her every facial expression like she was a painting. He continued to lick, suck, and gently nibble on that small bundle of nerves until Bella was almost ready to cum, only for him to pull back at the last second. Her sheen translucent liquid dripping down his chin as he removed the rest of his own clothing. He, with predatory eyes, watched her breathing as she panted, the glistening of her cunt and even her own hooded eyes looking back at him caused him to almost growl at her, seeing her trying to squirm over to him. He stood, as tall and manly as he was, his hair completely out of the man bun he normally was found with, staring at his beautiful wife.

              “Hold still love..: He whispered as he got on top of her, flipping her body to spy a mirror at the back of the bed, one Suguru placed there earlies, already having this in mind. “Eyes on the mirror…don’t break eye contact or I’ll make sure you have more than just a new necklace, ‘kay Pretty?” He whispered next to her ear, gently kissing her cheek, leaving a small trail of what was left from down below. He would’ve loved to have her taste herself, but he was too needy now and frankly wanted another baby. He smirked darkly as he slid in, watching her eyes roll back at the full feeling and he bottomed inside of her, loving how she clenched around him. “Hm~ So tight..” He muttered, letting out a small pant. He waited to see if she needed adjusting, because he was still a loving husband after all. When he noticed she was ready, he began thrusting. He thrusted deep inside of her, hitting the spots that made her vision blur and stars to appear before her eyes, something quite common when Suguru finally had his way with her. He flipped her back over, allowing her to see the mirror above them as well, he could see her fucked face, the drool slowly leaving her, the white ring forming around his heavy balls as he continued to abuse her poor cunt. “Such a good girl..” he whispered against her neck, moving and capturing her lips again. He felt her tightening around him, making his own feel heavier than normal. He grunted as she came, letting out a gorgeous noise that sounded like bells chiming among his brain. Suguru grunted, fucking her though her orgasm, as he pumped his own load inside of her a few minutes later.

              Bella’s eyes were heavy, while there was not a lot of action, watching and dealing with the family before this tired her out. She was about to close her eyes before Suguru began thrusting again. “Oh? You thought you were done?” He chuckled deeply beside her. “I think another four rounds should make sure you bear another child for me…yeah?” He pretended to ask, Bella could only nod, knowing this was about to be a long Easter night.

Holy shit is this long...Anyway, Happy Easter!! Love You!!

i am in pure shock rn

[dylanradio]

Now Playing on DylanRadio.com: Last Thoughts on Woody Guthrie by Bob Dylan from The Bootleg Series, Volumes 1-3

When yer head gets twisted and yer mind grows numb When you think you're too old, too young, too smart or too dumb When yer laggin' behind an' losin' yer pace In a slow-motion crawl of life's busy race No matter what yer doing if you start givin' up If the wine don't come to the top of yer cup If the wind's got you sideways with with one hand holdin' on And the other starts slipping and the feeling is gone And yer train engine fire needs a new spark to catch it And the wood's easy findin' but yer lazy to fetch it And yer sidewalk starts curlin' and the street gets too long And you start walkin' backwards though you know its wrong And lonesome comes up as down goes the day And tomorrow's mornin' seems so far away And you feel the reins from yer pony are slippin' And yer rope is a-slidin' 'cause yer hands are a-drippin' And yer sun-decked desert and evergreen valleys Turn to broken down slums and trash-can alleys And yer sky cries water and yer drain pipe's a-pourin' And the lightnin's a-flashing and the thunder's a-crashin' And the windows are rattlin' and breakin' and the roof tops a-shakin' And yer whole world's a-slammin' and bangin' And yer minutes of sun turn to hours of storm And to yourself you sometimes say "I never knew it was gonna be this way Why didn't they tell me the day I was born" And you start gettin' chills and yer jumping from sweat And you're lookin' for somethin' you ain't quite found yet And yer knee-deep in the dark water with yer hands in the air And the whole world's a-watchin' with a window peek stare And yer good gal leaves and she's long gone a-flying And yer heart feels sick like fish when they're fryin' And yer jackhammer falls from yer hand to yer feet And you need it badly but it lays on the street And yer bell's bangin' loudly but you can't hear its beat And you think yer ears might a been hurt Or yer eyes've turned filthy from the sight-blindin' dirt And you figured you failed in yesterdays rush When you were faked out an' fooled white facing a four flush And all the time you were holdin' three queens And it's makin you mad, it's makin' you mean Like in the middle of Life magazine Bouncin' around a pinball machine And there's something on yer mind you wanna be saying That somebody someplace oughta be hearin' But it's trapped on yer tongue and sealed in yer head And it bothers you badly when your layin' in bed And no matter how you try you just can't say it And yer scared to yer soul you just might forget it And yer eyes get swimmy from the tears in yer head And yer pillows of feathers turn to blankets of lead And the lion's mouth opens and yer staring at his teeth And his jaws start closin with you underneath And yer flat on your belly with yer hands tied behind And you wish you'd never taken that last detour sign And you say to yourself just what am I doin' On this road I'm walkin', on this trail I'm turnin' On this curve I'm hanging On this pathway I'm strolling, in the space I'm taking In this air I'm inhaling Am I mixed up too much, am I mixed up too hard Why am I walking, where am I running What am I saying, what am I knowing On this guitar I'm playing, on this banjo I'm frailin' On this mandolin I'm strummin', in the song I'm singin' In the tune I'm hummin', in the words I'm writin' In the words that I'm thinkin' In this ocean of hours I'm all the time drinkin' Who am I helping, what am I breaking What am I giving, what am I taking But you try with your whole soul best Never to think these thoughts and never to let Them kind of thoughts gain ground Or make yer heart pound But then again you know why they're around Just waiting for a chance to slip and drop down "Cause sometimes you hear'em when the night times comes creeping And you fear that they might catch you a-sleeping And you jump from yer bed, from yer last chapter of dreamin' And you can't remember for the best of yer thinking If that was you in the dream that was screaming And you know that it's something special you're needin' And you know that there's no drug that'll do for the healin' And no liquor in the land to stop yer brain from bleeding And you need something special Yeah, you need something special all right You need a fast flyin' train on a tornado track To shoot you someplace and shoot you back You need a cyclone wind on a stream engine howler That's been banging and booming and blowing forever That knows yer troubles a hundred times over You need a Greyhound bus that don't bar no race That won't laugh at yer looks Your voice or your face And by any number of bets in the book Will be rollin' long after the bubblegum craze You need something to open up a new door To show you something you seen before But overlooked a hundred times or more You need something to open your eyes You need something to make it known That it's you and no one else that owns That spot that yer standing, that space that you're sitting That the world ain't got you beat That it ain't got you licked It can't get you crazy no matter how many Times you might get kicked You need something special all right You need something special to give you hope But hope's just a word That maybe you said or maybe you heard On some windy corner 'round a wide-angled curve But that's what you need man, and you need it bad And yer trouble is you know it too good "Cause you look an' you start getting the chills "Cause you can't find it on a dollar bill And it ain't on Macy's window sill And it ain't on no rich kid's road map And it ain't in no fat kid's fraternity house And it ain't made in no Hollywood wheat germ And it ain't on that dimlit stage With that half-wit comedian on it Ranting and raving and taking yer money And you thinks it's funny No you can't find it in no night club or no yacht club And it ain't in the seats of a supper club And sure as hell you're bound to tell That no matter how hard you rub You just ain't a-gonna find it on yer ticket stub No, and it ain't in the rumors people're tellin' you And it ain't in the pimple-lotion people are sellin' you And it ain't in no cardboard-box house Or down any movie star's blouse And you can't find it on the golf course And Uncle Remus can't tell you and neither can Santa Claus And it ain't in the cream puff hair-do or cotton candy clothes And it ain't in the dime store dummies or bubblegum goons And it ain't in the marshmallow noises of the chocolate cake voices That come knockin' and tappin' in Christmas wrappin' Sayin' ain't I pretty and ain't I cute and look at my skin Look at my skin shine, look at my skin glow Look at my skin laugh, look at my skin cry When you can't even sense if they got any insides These people so pretty in their ribbons and bows No you'll not now or no other day Find it on the doorsteps made out-a paper mache« And inside it the people made of molasses That every other day buy a new pair of sunglasses And it ain't in the fifty-star generals and flipped-out phonies Who'd turn yuh in for a tenth of a penny Who breathe and burp and bend and crack And before you can count from one to ten Do it all over again but this time behind yer back My friend The ones that wheel and deal and whirl and twirl And play games with each other in their sand-box world And you can't find it either in the no-talent fools That run around gallant And make all rules for the ones that got talent And it ain't in the ones that ain't got any talent but think they do And think they're foolin' you The ones who jump on the wagon Just for a while 'cause they know it's in style To get their kicks, get out of it quick And make all kinds of money and chicks And you yell to yourself and you throw down yer hat Sayin', "Christ do I gotta be like that Ain't there no one here that knows where I'm at Ain't there no one here that knows how I feel Good God Almighty THAT STUFF AIN'T REAL" No but that ain't yer game, it ain't even yer race You can't hear yer name, you can't see yer face You gotta look some other place And where do you look for this hope that yer seekin' Where do you look for this lamp that's a-burnin' Where do you look for this oil well gushin' Where do you look for this candle that's glowin' Where do you look for this hope that you know is there And out there somewhere And your feet can only walk down two kinds of roads Your eyes can only look through two kinds of windows Your nose can only smell two kinds of hallways You can touch and twist And turn two kinds of doorknobs You can either go to the church of your choice Or you can go to Brooklyn State Hospital You'll find God in the church of your choice You'll find Woody Guthrie in Brooklyn State Hospital And though it's only my opinion I may be right or wrong You'll find them both In the Grand Canyon At sundown

[mysoulswoonstothisstuff]

When yer head gets twisted and yer mind grows numb

When you think you're too old, too young, too smart or too dumb

When yer laggin' behind an' losin' yer pace

In a slow-motion crawl of life's busy race

No matter what yer doing if you start givin' up

If the wine don't come to the top of yer cup

If the wind's got you sideways with with one hand holdin' on

And the other starts slipping and the feeling is gone

And yer train engine fire needs a new spark to catch it

And the wood's easy findin' but yer lazy to fetch it

And yer sidewalk starts curlin' and the street gets too long

And you start walkin' backwards though you know its wrong

And lonesome comes up as down goes the day

And tomorrow's mornin' seems so far away

And you feel the reins from yer pony are slippin'

And yer rope is a-slidin' 'cause yer hands are a-drippin'

And yer sun-decked desert and evergreen valleys

Turn to broken down slums and trash-can alleys

And yer sky cries water and yer drain pipe's a-pourin'

And the lightnin's a-flashing and the thunder's a-crashin'

And the windows are rattlin' and breakin' and the roof tops a-shakin'

And yer whole world's a-slammin' and bangin'

And yer minutes of sun turn to hours of storm

And to yourself you sometimes say

"I never knew it was gonna be this way

Why didn't they tell me the day I was born"

And you start gettin' chills and yer jumping from sweat

And you're lookin' for somethin' you ain't quite found yet

And yer knee-deep in the dark water with yer hands in the air

And the whole world's a-watchin' with a window peek stare

And yer good gal leaves and she's long gone a-flying

And yer heart feels sick like fish when they're fryin'

And yer jackhammer falls from yer hand to yer feet

And you need it badly but it lays on the street

And yer bell's bangin' loudly but you can't hear its beat

And you think yer ears might a been hurt

Or yer eyes've turned filthy from the sight-blindin' dirt

And you figured you failed in yesterdays rush

When you were faked out an' fooled white facing a four flush

And all the time you were holdin' three queens

And it's makin you mad, it's makin' you mean

Like in the middle of Life magazine

Bouncin' around a pinball machine

And there's something on yer mind you wanna be saying

That somebody someplace oughta be hearin'

But it's trapped on yer tongue and sealed in yer head

And it bothers you badly when your layin' in bed

And no matter how you try you just can't say it

And yer scared to yer soul you just might forget it

And yer eyes get swimmy from the tears in yer head

And yer pillows of feathers turn to blankets of lead

And the lion's mouth opens and yer staring at his teeth

And his jaws start closin with you underneath

And yer flat on your belly with yer hands tied behind

And you wish you'd never taken that last detour sign

And you say to yourself just what am I doin'

On this road I'm walkin', on this trail I'm turnin'

On this curve I'm hanging

On this pathway I'm strolling, in the space I'm taking

In this air I'm inhaling

Am I mixed up too much, am I mixed up too hard

Why am I walking, where am I running

What am I saying, what am I knowing

On this guitar I'm playing, on this banjo I'm frailin'

On this mandolin I'm strummin', in the song I'm singin'

In the tune I'm hummin', in the words I'm writin'

In the words that I'm thinkin'

In this ocean of hours I'm all the time drinkin'

Who am I helping, what am I breaking

What am I giving, what am I taking

But you try with your whole soul best

Never to think these thoughts and never to let

Them kind of thoughts gain ground

Or make yer heart pound

But then again you know why they're around

Just waiting for a chance to slip and drop down

"Cause sometimes you hear'em when the night times comes creeping

And you fear that they might catch you a-sleeping

And you jump from yer bed, from yer last chapter of dreamin'

And you can't remember for the best of yer thinking

If that was you in the dream that was screaming

And you know that it's something special you're needin'

And you know that there's no drug that'll do for the healin'

And no liquor in the land to stop yer brain from bleeding

And you need something special

Yeah, you need something special all right

You need a fast flyin' train on a tornado track

To shoot you someplace and shoot you back

You need a cyclone wind on a stream engine howler

That's been banging and booming and blowing forever

That knows yer troubles a hundred times over

You need a Greyhound bus that don't bar no race

That won't laugh at yer looks

Your voice or your face

And by any number of bets in the book

Will be rollin' long after the bubblegum craze

You need something to open up a new door

To show you something you seen before

But overlooked a hundred times or more

You need something to open your eyes

You need something to make it known

That it's you and no one else that owns

That spot that yer standing, that space that you're sitting

That the world ain't got you beat

That it ain't got you licked

It can't get you crazy no matter how many

Times you might get kicked

You need something special all right

You need something special to give you hope

But hope's just a word

That maybe you said or maybe you heard

On some windy corner 'round a wide-angled curve

But that's what you need man, and you need it bad

And yer trouble is you know it too good

"Cause you look an' you start getting the chills

"Cause you can't find it on a dollar bill

And it ain't on Macy's window sill

And it ain't on no rich kid's road map

And it ain't in no fat kid's fraternity house

And it ain't made in no Hollywood wheat germ

And it ain't on that dimlit stage

With that half-wit comedian on it

Ranting and raving and taking yer money

And you thinks it's funny

No you can't find it in no night club or no yacht club

And it ain't in the seats of a supper club

And sure as hell you're bound to tell

That no matter how hard you rub

You just ain't a-gonna find it on yer ticket stub

No, and it ain't in the rumors people're tellin' you

And it ain't in the pimple-lotion people are sellin' you

And it ain't in no cardboard-box house

Or down any movie star's blouse

And you can't find it on the golf course

And Uncle Remus can't tell you and neither can Santa Claus

And it ain't in the cream puff hair-do or cotton candy clothes

And it ain't in the dime store dummies or bubblegum goons

And it ain't in the marshmallow noises of the chocolate cake voices

That come knockin' and tappin' in Christmas wrappin'

Sayin' ain't I pretty and ain't I cute and look at my skin

Look at my skin shine, look at my skin glow

Look at my skin laugh, look at my skin cry

When you can't even sense if they got any insides

These people so pretty in their ribbons and bows

No you'll not now or no other day

Find it on the doorsteps made out-a paper mache¥

And inside it the people made of molasses

That every other day buy a new pair of sunglasses

And it ain't in the fifty-star generals and flipped-out phonies

Who'd turn yuh in for a tenth of a penny

Who breathe and burp and bend and crack

And before you can count from one to ten

Do it all over again but this time behind yer back

My friend

The ones that wheel and deal and whirl and twirl

And play games with each other in their sand-box world

And you can't find it either in the no-talent fools

That run around gallant

And make all rules for the ones that got talent

And it ain't in the ones that ain't got any talent but think they do

And think they're foolin' you

The ones who jump on the wagon

Just for a while 'cause they know it's in style

To get their kicks, get out of it quick

And make all kinds of money and chicks

And you yell to yourself and you throw down yer hat

Sayin', "Christ do I gotta be like that

Ain't there no one here that knows where I'm at

Ain't there no one here that knows how I feel

Good God Almighty

That stuff ain’t real

No but that ain't yer game, it ain't even yer race

You can't hear yer name, you can't see yer face

You gotta look some other place

And where do you look for this hope that yer seekin'

Where do you look for this lamp that's a-burnin'

Where do you look for this oil well gushin'

Where do you look for this candle that's glowin'

Where do you look for this hope that you know is there

And out there somewhere

And your feet can only walk down two kinds of roads

Your eyes can only look through two kinds of windows

Your nose can only smell two kinds of hallways

You can touch and twist

And turn two kinds of doorknobs

You can either go to the church of your choice

Or you can go to Brooklyn State Hospital

You'll find God in the church of your choice

You'll find Woody Guthrie in Brooklyn State Hospital

And though it's only my opinion

I may be right or wrong

You'll find them both

In the Grand Canyon

At sundown

[quietenvoy]

Emma Portner's "last thoughts on woody guthrie"

Together with dancer Aidan Carberry and cinematographer Elliott Sellers, Emma Portner debuts "Last Thoughts on Woody Guthrie", an impeccably choreographed performance set to a spoken word piece by Bob Dylan.

Last Thoughts On Woody Guthrie

Written by Bob Dylan

When yer head gets twisted and yer mind grows numb

When you think you're too old, too young, too smart or too dumb

When yer laggin' behind an' losin' yer pace

In a slow-motion crawl of life's busy race

No matter what yer doing if you start givin' up

If the wine don't come to the top of yer cup

If the wind's got you sideways with with one hand holdin' on

And the other starts slipping and the feeling is gone

And yer train engine fire needs a new spark to catch it

And the wood's easy findin' but yer lazy to fetch it

And yer sidewalk starts curlin' and the street gets too long

And you start walkin' backwards though you know its wrong

And lonesome comes up as down goes the day

And tomorrow's mornin' seems so far away

And you feel the reins from yer pony are slippin'

And yer rope is a-slidin' 'cause yer hands are a-drippin'

And yer sun-decked desert and evergreen valleys

Turn to broken down slums and trash-can alleys

And yer sky cries water and yer drain pipe's a-pourin'

And the lightnin's a-flashing and the thunder's a-crashin'

And the windows are rattlin' and breakin' and the roof tops a-shakin'

And yer whole world's a-slammin' and bangin'

And yer minutes of sun turn to hours of storm

And to yourself you sometimes say

"I never knew it was gonna be this way

Why didn't they tell me the day I was born"

And you start gettin' chills and yer jumping from sweat

And you're lookin' for somethin' you ain't quite found yet

And yer knee-deep in the dark water with yer hands in the air

And the whole world's a-watchin' with a window peek stare

And yer good gal leaves and she's long gone a-flying

And yer heart feels sick like fish when they're fryin'

And yer jackhammer falls from yer hand to yer feet

And you need it badly but it lays on the street

And yer bell's bangin' loudly but you can't hear its beat

And you think yer ears might a been hurt

Or yer eyes've turned filthy from the sight-blindin' dirt

And you figured you failed in yesterdays rush

When you were faked out an' fooled white facing a four flush

And all the time you were holdin' three queens

And it's makin you mad, it's makin' you mean

Like in the middle of Life magazine

Bouncin' around a pinball machine

And there's something on yer mind you wanna be saying

That somebody someplace oughta be hearin'

But it's trapped on yer tongue and sealed in yer head

And it bothers you badly when your layin' in bed

And no matter how you try you just can't say it

And yer scared to yer soul you just might forget it

And yer eyes get swimmy from the tears in yer head

And yer pillows of feathers turn to blankets of lead

And the lion's mouth opens and yer staring at his teeth

And his jaws start closin with you underneath

And yer flat on your belly with yer hands tied behind

And you wish you'd never taken that last detour sign

And you say to yourself just what am I doin'

On this road I'm walkin', on this trail I'm turnin'

On this curve I'm hanging

On this pathway I'm strolling, in the space I'm taking

In this air I'm inhaling

Am I mixed up too much, am I mixed up too hard

Why am I walking, where am I running

What am I saying, what am I knowing

On this guitar I'm playing, on this banjo I'm frailin'

On this mandolin I'm strummin', in the song I'm singin'

In the tune I'm hummin', in the words I'm writin'

In the words that I'm thinkin'

In this ocean of hours I'm all the time drinkin'

Who am I helping, what am I breaking

What am I giving, what am I taking

But you try with your whole soul best

Never to think these thoughts and never to let

Them kind of thoughts gain ground

Or make yer heart pound

But then again you know why they're around

Just waiting for a chance to slip and drop down

"Cause sometimes you hear'em when the night times comes creeping

And you fear that they might catch you a-sleeping

And you jump from yer bed, from yer last chapter of dreamin'

And you can't remember for the best of yer thinking

If that was you in the dream that was screaming

And you know that it's something special you're needin'

And you know that there's no drug that'll do for the healin'

And no liquor in the land to stop yer brain from bleeding

And you need something special

Yeah, you need something special all right

You need a fast flyin' train on a tornado track

To shoot you someplace and shoot you back

You need a cyclone wind on a stream engine howler

That's been banging and booming and blowing forever

That knows yer troubles a hundred times over

You need a Greyhound bus that don't bar no race

That won't laugh at yer looks

Your voice or your face

And by any number of bets in the book

Will be rollin' long after the bubblegum craze

You need something to open up a new door

To show you something you seen before

But overlooked a hundred times or more

You need something to open your eyes

You need something to make it known

That it's you and no one else that owns

That spot that yer standing, that space that you're sitting

That the world ain't got you beat

That it ain't got you licked

It can't get you crazy no matter how many

Times you might get kicked

You need something special all right

You need something special to give you hope

But hope's just a word

That maybe you said or maybe you heard

On some windy corner 'round a wide-angled curve

But that's what you need man, and you need it bad

And yer trouble is you know it too good

"Cause you look an' you start getting the chills

"Cause you can't find it on a dollar bill

And it ain't on Macy's window sill

And it ain't on no rich kid's road map

And it ain't in no fat kid's fraternity house

And it ain't made in no Hollywood wheat germ

And it ain't on that dimlit stage

With that half-wit comedian on it

Ranting and raving and taking yer money

And you thinks it's funny

No you can't find it in no night club or no yacht club

And it ain't in the seats of a supper club

And sure as hell you're bound to tell

That no matter how hard you rub

You just ain't a-gonna find it on yer ticket stub

No, and it ain't in the rumors people're tellin' you

And it ain't in the pimple-lotion people are sellin' you

And it ain't in no cardboard-box house

Or down any movie star's blouse

And you can't find it on the golf course

And Uncle Remus can't tell you and neither can Santa Claus

And it ain't in the cream puff hair-do or cotton candy clothes

And it ain't in the dime store dummies or bubblegum goons

And it ain't in the marshmallow noises of the chocolate cake voices

That come knockin' and tappin' in Christmas wrappin'

Sayin' ain't I pretty and ain't I cute and look at my skin

Look at my skin shine, look at my skin glow

Look at my skin laugh, look at my skin cry

When you can't even sense if they got any insides

These people so pretty in their ribbons and bows

No you'll not now or no other day

Find it on the doorsteps made out-a paper mache¥

And inside it the people made of molasses

That every other day buy a new pair of sunglasses

And it ain't in the fifty-star generals and flipped-out phonies

Who'd turn yuh in for a tenth of a penny

Who breathe and burp and bend and crack

And before you can count from one to ten

Do it all over again but this time behind yer back

My friend

The ones that wheel and deal and whirl and twirl

And play games with each other in their sand-box world

And you can't find it either in the no-talent fools

That run around gallant

And make all rules for the ones that got talent

And it ain't in the ones that ain't got any talent but think they do

And think they're foolin' you

The ones who jump on the wagon

Just for a while 'cause they know it's in style

To get their kicks, get out of it quick

And make all kinds of money and chicks

And you yell to yourself and you throw down yer hat

Sayin', "Christ do I gotta be like that

Ain't there no one here that knows where I'm at

Ain't there no one here that knows how I feel

Good God Almighty

THAT STUFF AIN'T REAL"

No but that ain't yer game, it ain't even yer race

You can't hear yer name, you can't see yer face

You gotta look some other place

And where do you look for this hope that yer seekin'

Where do you look for this lamp that's a-burnin'

Where do you look for this oil well gushin'

Where do you look for this candle that's glowin'

Where do you look for this hope that you know is there

And out there somewhere

And your feet can only walk down two kinds of roads

Your eyes can only look through two kinds of windows

Your nose can only smell two kinds of hallways

You can touch and twist

And turn two kinds of doorknobs

You can either go to the church of your choice

Or you can go to Brooklyn State Hospital

You'll find God in the church of your choice

You'll find Woody Guthrie in Brooklyn State Hospital

And though it's only my opinion

I may be right or wrong

You'll find them both

In the Grand Canyon

At sundown

[dylanradio]

Now Playing on DylanRadio.com: Last Thoughts on Woody Guthrie by Bob Dylan from The Bootleg Series, Volumes 1-3

When yer head gets twisted and yer mind grows numb When you think you're too old, too young, too smart or too dumb When yer laggin' behind an' losin' yer pace In a slow-motion crawl of life's busy race No matter what yer doing if you start givin' up If the wine don't come to the top of yer cup If the wind's got you sideways with with one hand holdin' on And the other starts slipping and the feeling is gone And yer train engine fire needs a new spark to catch it And the wood's easy findin' but yer lazy to fetch it And yer sidewalk starts curlin' and the street gets too long And you start walkin' backwards though you know its wrong And lonesome comes up as down goes the day And tomorrow's mornin' seems so far away And you feel the reins from yer pony are slippin' And yer rope is a-slidin' 'cause yer hands are a-drippin' And yer sun-decked desert and evergreen valleys Turn to broken down slums and trash-can alleys And yer sky cries water and yer drain pipe's a-pourin' And the lightnin's a-flashing and the thunder's a-crashin' And the windows are rattlin' and breakin' and the roof tops a-shakin' And yer whole world's a-slammin' and bangin' And yer minutes of sun turn to hours of storm And to yourself you sometimes say "I never knew it was gonna be this way Why didn't they tell me the day I was born" And you start gettin' chills and yer jumping from sweat And you're lookin' for somethin' you ain't quite found yet And yer knee-deep in the dark water with yer hands in the air And the whole world's a-watchin' with a window peek stare And yer good gal leaves and she's long gone a-flying And yer heart feels sick like fish when they're fryin' And yer jackhammer falls from yer hand to yer feet And you need it badly but it lays on the street And yer bell's bangin' loudly but you can't hear its beat And you think yer ears might a been hurt Or yer eyes've turned filthy from the sight-blindin' dirt And you figured you failed in yesterdays rush When you were faked out an' fooled white facing a four flush And all the time you were holdin' three queens And it's makin you mad, it's makin' you mean Like in the middle of Life magazine Bouncin' around a pinball machine And there's something on yer mind you wanna be saying That somebody someplace oughta be hearin' But it's trapped on yer tongue and sealed in yer head And it bothers you badly when your layin' in bed And no matter how you try you just can't say it And yer scared to yer soul you just might forget it And yer eyes get swimmy from the tears in yer head And yer pillows of feathers turn to blankets of lead And the lion's mouth opens and yer staring at his teeth And his jaws start closin with you underneath And yer flat on your belly with yer hands tied behind And you wish you'd never taken that last detour sign And you say to yourself just what am I doin' On this road I'm walkin', on this trail I'm turnin' On this curve I'm hanging On this pathway I'm strolling, in the space I'm taking In this air I'm inhaling Am I mixed up too much, am I mixed up too hard Why am I walking, where am I running What am I saying, what am I knowing On this guitar I'm playing, on this banjo I'm frailin' On this mandolin I'm strummin', in the song I'm singin' In the tune I'm hummin', in the words I'm writin' In the words that I'm thinkin' In this ocean of hours I'm all the time drinkin' Who am I helping, what am I breaking What am I giving, what am I taking But you try with your whole soul best Never to think these thoughts and never to let Them kind of thoughts gain ground Or make yer heart pound But then again you know why they're around Just waiting for a chance to slip and drop down "Cause sometimes you hear'em when the night times comes creeping And you fear that they might catch you a-sleeping And you jump from yer bed, from yer last chapter of dreamin' And you can't remember for the best of yer thinking If that was you in the dream that was screaming And you know that it's something special you're needin' And you know that there's no drug that'll do for the healin' And no liquor in the land to stop yer brain from bleeding And you need something special Yeah, you need something special all right You need a fast flyin' train on a tornado track To shoot you someplace and shoot you back You need a cyclone wind on a stream engine howler That's been banging and booming and blowing forever That knows yer troubles a hundred times over You need a Greyhound bus that don't bar no race That won't laugh at yer looks Your voice or your face And by any number of bets in the book Will be rollin' long after the bubblegum craze You need something to open up a new door To show you something you seen before But overlooked a hundred times or more You need something to open your eyes You need something to make it known That it's you and no one else that owns That spot that yer standing, that space that you're sitting That the world ain't got you beat That it ain't got you licked It can't get you crazy no matter how many Times you might get kicked You need something special all right You need something special to give you hope But hope's just a word That maybe you said or maybe you heard On some windy corner 'round a wide-angled curve But that's what you need man, and you need it bad And yer trouble is you know it too good "Cause you look an' you start getting the chills "Cause you can't find it on a dollar bill And it ain't on Macy's window sill And it ain't on no rich kid's road map And it ain't in no fat kid's fraternity house And it ain't made in no Hollywood wheat germ And it ain't on that dimlit stage With that half-wit comedian on it Ranting and raving and taking yer money And you thinks it's funny No you can't find it in no night club or no yacht club And it ain't in the seats of a supper club And sure as hell you're bound to tell That no matter how hard you rub You just ain't a-gonna find it on yer ticket stub No, and it ain't in the rumors people're tellin' you And it ain't in the pimple-lotion people are sellin' you And it ain't in no cardboard-box house Or down any movie star's blouse And you can't find it on the golf course And Uncle Remus can't tell you and neither can Santa Claus And it ain't in the cream puff hair-do or cotton candy clothes And it ain't in the dime store dummies or bubblegum goons And it ain't in the marshmallow noises of the chocolate cake voices That come knockin' and tappin' in Christmas wrappin' Sayin' ain't I pretty and ain't I cute and look at my skin Look at my skin shine, look at my skin glow Look at my skin laugh, look at my skin cry When you can't even sense if they got any insides These people so pretty in their ribbons and bows No you'll not now or no other day Find it on the doorsteps made out-a paper mache« And inside it the people made of molasses That every other day buy a new pair of sunglasses And it ain't in the fifty-star generals and flipped-out phonies Who'd turn yuh in for a tenth of a penny Who breathe and burp and bend and crack And before you can count from one to ten Do it all over again but this time behind yer back My friend The ones that wheel and deal and whirl and twirl And play games with each other in their sand-box world And you can't find it either in the no-talent fools That run around gallant And make all rules for the ones that got talent And it ain't in the ones that ain't got any talent but think they do And think they're foolin' you The ones who jump on the wagon Just for a while 'cause they know it's in style To get their kicks, get out of it quick And make all kinds of money and chicks And you yell to yourself and you throw down yer hat Sayin', "Christ do I gotta be like that Ain't there no one here that knows where I'm at Ain't there no one here that knows how I feel Good God Almighty THAT STUFF AIN'T REAL" No but that ain't yer game, it ain't even yer race You can't hear yer name, you can't see yer face You gotta look some other place And where do you look for this hope that yer seekin' Where do you look for this lamp that's a-burnin' Where do you look for this oil well gushin' Where do you look for this candle that's glowin' Where do you look for this hope that you know is there And out there somewhere And your feet can only walk down two kinds of roads Your eyes can only look through two kinds of windows Your nose can only smell two kinds of hallways You can touch and twist And turn two kinds of doorknobs You can either go to the church of your choice Or you can go to Brooklyn State Hospital You'll find God in the church of your choice You'll find Woody Guthrie in Brooklyn State Hospital And though it's only my opinion I may be right or wrong You'll find them both In the Grand Canyon At sundown

[dylanradio]

Now Playing on DylanRadio.com: Last Thoughts on Woody Guthrie by Bob Dylan from The Bootleg Series, Volumes 1-3

When yer head gets twisted and yer mind grows numb When you think you're too old, too young, too smart or too dumb When yer laggin' behind an' losin' yer pace In a slow-motion crawl of life's busy race No matter what yer doing if you start givin' up If the wine don't come to the top of yer cup If the wind's got you sideways with with one hand holdin' on And the other starts slipping and the feeling is gone And yer train engine fire needs a new spark to catch it And the wood's easy findin' but yer lazy to fetch it And yer sidewalk starts curlin' and the street gets too long And you start walkin' backwards though you know its wrong And lonesome comes up as down goes the day And tomorrow's mornin' seems so far away And you feel the reins from yer pony are slippin' And yer rope is a-slidin' 'cause yer hands are a-drippin' And yer sun-decked desert and evergreen valleys Turn to broken down slums and trash-can alleys And yer sky cries water and yer drain pipe's a-pourin' And the lightnin's a-flashing and the thunder's a-crashin' And the windows are rattlin' and breakin' and the roof tops a-shakin' And yer whole world's a-slammin' and bangin' And yer minutes of sun turn to hours of storm And to yourself you sometimes say "I never knew it was gonna be this way Why didn't they tell me the day I was born" And you start gettin' chills and yer jumping from sweat And you're lookin' for somethin' you ain't quite found yet And yer knee-deep in the dark water with yer hands in the air And the whole world's a-watchin' with a window peek stare And yer good gal leaves and she's long gone a-flying And yer heart feels sick like fish when they're fryin' And yer jackhammer falls from yer hand to yer feet And you need it badly but it lays on the street And yer bell's bangin' loudly but you can't hear its beat And you think yer ears might a been hurt Or yer eyes've turned filthy from the sight-blindin' dirt And you figured you failed in yesterdays rush When you were faked out an' fooled white facing a four flush And all the time you were holdin' three queens And it's makin you mad, it's makin' you mean Like in the middle of Life magazine Bouncin' around a pinball machine And there's something on yer mind you wanna be saying That somebody someplace oughta be hearin' But it's trapped on yer tongue and sealed in yer head And it bothers you badly when your layin' in bed And no matter how you try you just can't say it And yer scared to yer soul you just might forget it And yer eyes get swimmy from the tears in yer head And yer pillows of feathers turn to blankets of lead And the lion's mouth opens and yer staring at his teeth And his jaws start closin with you underneath And yer flat on your belly with yer hands tied behind And you wish you'd never taken that last detour sign And you say to yourself just what am I doin' On this road I'm walkin', on this trail I'm turnin' On this curve I'm hanging On this pathway I'm strolling, in the space I'm taking In this air I'm inhaling Am I mixed up too much, am I mixed up too hard Why am I walking, where am I running What am I saying, what am I knowing On this guitar I'm playing, on this banjo I'm frailin' On this mandolin I'm strummin', in the song I'm singin' In the tune I'm hummin', in the words I'm writin' In the words that I'm thinkin' In this ocean of hours I'm all the time drinkin' Who am I helping, what am I breaking What am I giving, what am I taking But you try with your whole soul best Never to think these thoughts and never to let Them kind of thoughts gain ground Or make yer heart pound But then again you know why they're around Just waiting for a chance to slip and drop down "Cause sometimes you hear'em when the night times comes creeping And you fear that they might catch you a-sleeping And you jump from yer bed, from yer last chapter of dreamin' And you can't remember for the best of yer thinking If that was you in the dream that was screaming And you know that it's something special you're needin' And you know that there's no drug that'll do for the healin' And no liquor in the land to stop yer brain from bleeding And you need something special Yeah, you need something special all right You need a fast flyin' train on a tornado track To shoot you someplace and shoot you back You need a cyclone wind on a stream engine howler That's been banging and booming and blowing forever That knows yer troubles a hundred times over You need a Greyhound bus that don't bar no race That won't laugh at yer looks Your voice or your face And by any number of bets in the book Will be rollin' long after the bubblegum craze You need something to open up a new door To show you something you seen before But overlooked a hundred times or more You need something to open your eyes You need something to make it known That it's you and no one else that owns That spot that yer standing, that space that you're sitting That the world ain't got you beat That it ain't got you licked It can't get you crazy no matter how many Times you might get kicked You need something special all right You need something special to give you hope But hope's just a word That maybe you said or maybe you heard On some windy corner 'round a wide-angled curve But that's what you need man, and you need it bad And yer trouble is you know it too good "Cause you look an' you start getting the chills "Cause you can't find it on a dollar bill And it ain't on Macy's window sill And it ain't on no rich kid's road map And it ain't in no fat kid's fraternity house And it ain't made in no Hollywood wheat germ And it ain't on that dimlit stage With that half-wit comedian on it Ranting and raving and taking yer money And you thinks it's funny No you can't find it in no night club or no yacht club And it ain't in the seats of a supper club And sure as hell you're bound to tell That no matter how hard you rub You just ain't a-gonna find it on yer ticket stub No, and it ain't in the rumors people're tellin' you And it ain't in the pimple-lotion people are sellin' you And it ain't in no cardboard-box house Or down any movie star's blouse And you can't find it on the golf course And Uncle Remus can't tell you and neither can Santa Claus And it ain't in the cream puff hair-do or cotton candy clothes And it ain't in the dime store dummies or bubblegum goons And it ain't in the marshmallow noises of the chocolate cake voices That come knockin' and tappin' in Christmas wrappin' Sayin' ain't I pretty and ain't I cute and look at my skin Look at my skin shine, look at my skin glow Look at my skin laugh, look at my skin cry When you can't even sense if they got any insides These people so pretty in their ribbons and bows No you'll not now or no other day Find it on the doorsteps made out-a paper mache« And inside it the people made of molasses That every other day buy a new pair of sunglasses And it ain't in the fifty-star generals and flipped-out phonies Who'd turn yuh in for a tenth of a penny Who breathe and burp and bend and crack And before you can count from one to ten Do it all over again but this time behind yer back My friend The ones that wheel and deal and whirl and twirl And play games with each other in their sand-box world And you can't find it either in the no-talent fools That run around gallant And make all rules for the ones that got talent And it ain't in the ones that ain't got any talent but think they do And think they're foolin' you The ones who jump on the wagon Just for a while 'cause they know it's in style To get their kicks, get out of it quick And make all kinds of money and chicks And you yell to yourself and you throw down yer hat Sayin', "Christ do I gotta be like that Ain't there no one here that knows where I'm at Ain't there no one here that knows how I feel Good God Almighty THAT STUFF AIN'T REAL" No but that ain't yer game, it ain't even yer race You can't hear yer name, you can't see yer face You gotta look some other place And where do you look for this hope that yer seekin' Where do you look for this lamp that's a-burnin' Where do you look for this oil well gushin' Where do you look for this candle that's glowin' Where do you look for this hope that you know is there And out there somewhere And your feet can only walk down two kinds of roads Your eyes can only look through two kinds of windows Your nose can only smell two kinds of hallways You can touch and twist And turn two kinds of doorknobs You can either go to the church of your choice Or you can go to Brooklyn State Hospital You'll find God in the church of your choice You'll find Woody Guthrie in Brooklyn State Hospital And though it's only my opinion I may be right or wrong You'll find them both In the Grand Canyon At sundown

[dylanradio]

Now Playing on DylanRadio.com: Last Thoughts on Woody Guthrie by Bob Dylan from The Bootleg Series, Volumes 1-3

When yer head gets twisted and yer mind grows numb When you think you're too old, too young, too smart or too dumb When yer laggin' behind an' losin' yer pace In a slow-motion crawl of life's busy race No matter what yer doing if you start givin' up If the wine don't come to the top of yer cup If the wind's got you sideways with with one hand holdin' on And the other starts slipping and the feeling is gone And yer train engine fire needs a new spark to catch it And the wood's easy findin' but yer lazy to fetch it And yer sidewalk starts curlin' and the street gets too long And you start walkin' backwards though you know its wrong And lonesome comes up as down goes the day And tomorrow's mornin' seems so far away And you feel the reins from yer pony are slippin' And yer rope is a-slidin' 'cause yer hands are a-drippin' And yer sun-decked desert and evergreen valleys Turn to broken down slums and trash-can alleys And yer sky cries water and yer drain pipe's a-pourin' And the lightnin's a-flashing and the thunder's a-crashin' And the windows are rattlin' and breakin' and the roof tops a-shakin' And yer whole world's a-slammin' and bangin' And yer minutes of sun turn to hours of storm And to yourself you sometimes say "I never knew it was gonna be this way Why didn't they tell me the day I was born" And you start gettin' chills and yer jumping from sweat And you're lookin' for somethin' you ain't quite found yet And yer knee-deep in the dark water with yer hands in the air And the whole world's a-watchin' with a window peek stare And yer good gal leaves and she's long gone a-flying And yer heart feels sick like fish when they're fryin' And yer jackhammer falls from yer hand to yer feet And you need it badly but it lays on the street And yer bell's bangin' loudly but you can't hear its beat And you think yer ears might a been hurt Or yer eyes've turned filthy from the sight-blindin' dirt And you figured you failed in yesterdays rush When you were faked out an' fooled white facing a four flush And all the time you were holdin' three queens And it's makin you mad, it's makin' you mean Like in the middle of Life magazine Bouncin' around a pinball machine And there's something on yer mind you wanna be saying That somebody someplace oughta be hearin' But it's trapped on yer tongue and sealed in yer head And it bothers you badly when your layin' in bed And no matter how you try you just can't say it And yer scared to yer soul you just might forget it And yer eyes get swimmy from the tears in yer head And yer pillows of feathers turn to blankets of lead And the lion's mouth opens and yer staring at his teeth And his jaws start closin with you underneath And yer flat on your belly with yer hands tied behind And you wish you'd never taken that last detour sign And you say to yourself just what am I doin' On this road I'm walkin', on this trail I'm turnin' On this curve I'm hanging On this pathway I'm strolling, in the space I'm taking In this air I'm inhaling Am I mixed up too much, am I mixed up too hard Why am I walking, where am I running What am I saying, what am I knowing On this guitar I'm playing, on this banjo I'm frailin' On this mandolin I'm strummin', in the song I'm singin' In the tune I'm hummin', in the words I'm writin' In the words that I'm thinkin' In this ocean of hours I'm all the time drinkin' Who am I helping, what am I breaking What am I giving, what am I taking But you try with your whole soul best Never to think these thoughts and never to let Them kind of thoughts gain ground Or make yer heart pound But then again you know why they're around Just waiting for a chance to slip and drop down "Cause sometimes you hear'em when the night times comes creeping And you fear that they might catch you a-sleeping And you jump from yer bed, from yer last chapter of dreamin' And you can't remember for the best of yer thinking If that was you in the dream that was screaming And you know that it's something special you're needin' And you know that there's no drug that'll do for the healin' And no liquor in the land to stop yer brain from bleeding And you need something special Yeah, you need something special all right You need a fast flyin' train on a tornado track To shoot you someplace and shoot you back You need a cyclone wind on a stream engine howler That's been banging and booming and blowing forever That knows yer troubles a hundred times over You need a Greyhound bus that don't bar no race That won't laugh at yer looks Your voice or your face And by any number of bets in the book Will be rollin' long after the bubblegum craze You need something to open up a new door To show you something you seen before But overlooked a hundred times or more You need something to open your eyes You need something to make it known That it's you and no one else that owns That spot that yer standing, that space that you're sitting That the world ain't got you beat That it ain't got you licked It can't get you crazy no matter how many Times you might get kicked You need something special all right You need something special to give you hope But hope's just a word That maybe you said or maybe you heard On some windy corner 'round a wide-angled curve But that's what you need man, and you need it bad And yer trouble is you know it too good "Cause you look an' you start getting the chills "Cause you can't find it on a dollar bill And it ain't on Macy's window sill And it ain't on no rich kid's road map And it ain't in no fat kid's fraternity house And it ain't made in no Hollywood wheat germ And it ain't on that dimlit stage With that half-wit comedian on it Ranting and raving and taking yer money And you thinks it's funny No you can't find it in no night club or no yacht club And it ain't in the seats of a supper club And sure as hell you're bound to tell That no matter how hard you rub You just ain't a-gonna find it on yer ticket stub No, and it ain't in the rumors people're tellin' you And it ain't in the pimple-lotion people are sellin' you And it ain't in no cardboard-box house Or down any movie star's blouse And you can't find it on the golf course And Uncle Remus can't tell you and neither can Santa Claus And it ain't in the cream puff hair-do or cotton candy clothes And it ain't in the dime store dummies or bubblegum goons And it ain't in the marshmallow noises of the chocolate cake voices That come knockin' and tappin' in Christmas wrappin' Sayin' ain't I pretty and ain't I cute and look at my skin Look at my skin shine, look at my skin glow Look at my skin laugh, look at my skin cry When you can't even sense if they got any insides These people so pretty in their ribbons and bows No you'll not now or no other day Find it on the doorsteps made out-a paper mache« And inside it the people made of molasses That every other day buy a new pair of sunglasses And it ain't in the fifty-star generals and flipped-out phonies Who'd turn yuh in for a tenth of a penny Who breathe and burp and bend and crack And before you can count from one to ten Do it all over again but this time behind yer back My friend The ones that wheel and deal and whirl and twirl And play games with each other in their sand-box world And you can't find it either in the no-talent fools That run around gallant And make all rules for the ones that got talent And it ain't in the ones that ain't got any talent but think they do And think they're foolin' you The ones who jump on the wagon Just for a while 'cause they know it's in style To get their kicks, get out of it quick And make all kinds of money and chicks And you yell to yourself and you throw down yer hat Sayin', "Christ do I gotta be like that Ain't there no one here that knows where I'm at Ain't there no one here that knows how I feel Good God Almighty THAT STUFF AIN'T REAL" No but that ain't yer game, it ain't even yer race You can't hear yer name, you can't see yer face You gotta look some other place And where do you look for this hope that yer seekin' Where do you look for this lamp that's a-burnin' Where do you look for this oil well gushin' Where do you look for this candle that's glowin' Where do you look for this hope that you know is there And out there somewhere And your feet can only walk down two kinds of roads Your eyes can only look through two kinds of windows Your nose can only smell two kinds of hallways You can touch and twist And turn two kinds of doorknobs You can either go to the church of your choice Or you can go to Brooklyn State Hospital You'll find God in the church of your choice You'll find Woody Guthrie in Brooklyn State Hospital And though it's only my opinion I may be right or wrong You'll find them both In the Grand Canyon At sundown

[dylanradio]

Now Playing on DylanRadio.com: Last Thoughts on Woody Guthrie by Bob Dylan from The Bootleg Series, Volumes 1-3

When yer head gets twisted and yer mind grows numb When you think you're too old, too young, too smart or too dumb When yer laggin' behind an' losin' yer pace In a slow-motion crawl of life's busy race No matter what yer doing if you start givin' up If the wine don't come to the top of yer cup If the wind's got you sideways with with one hand holdin' on And the other starts slipping and the feeling is gone And yer train engine fire needs a new spark to catch it And the wood's easy findin' but yer lazy to fetch it And yer sidewalk starts curlin' and the street gets too long And you start walkin' backwards though you know its wrong And lonesome comes up as down goes the day And tomorrow's mornin' seems so far away And you feel the reins from yer pony are slippin' And yer rope is a-slidin' 'cause yer hands are a-drippin' And yer sun-decked desert and evergreen valleys Turn to broken down slums and trash-can alleys And yer sky cries water and yer drain pipe's a-pourin' And the lightnin's a-flashing and the thunder's a-crashin' And the windows are rattlin' and breakin' and the roof tops a-shakin' And yer whole world's a-slammin' and bangin' And yer minutes of sun turn to hours of storm And to yourself you sometimes say "I never knew it was gonna be this way Why didn't they tell me the day I was born" And you start gettin' chills and yer jumping from sweat And you're lookin' for somethin' you ain't quite found yet And yer knee-deep in the dark water with yer hands in the air And the whole world's a-watchin' with a window peek stare And yer good gal leaves and she's long gone a-flying And yer heart feels sick like fish when they're fryin' And yer jackhammer falls from yer hand to yer feet And you need it badly but it lays on the street And yer bell's bangin' loudly but you can't hear its beat And you think yer ears might a been hurt Or yer eyes've turned filthy from the sight-blindin' dirt And you figured you failed in yesterdays rush When you were faked out an' fooled white facing a four flush And all the time you were holdin' three queens And it's makin you mad, it's makin' you mean Like in the middle of Life magazine Bouncin' around a pinball machine And there's something on yer mind you wanna be saying That somebody someplace oughta be hearin' But it's trapped on yer tongue and sealed in yer head And it bothers you badly when your layin' in bed And no matter how you try you just can't say it And yer scared to yer soul you just might forget it And yer eyes get swimmy from the tears in yer head And yer pillows of feathers turn to blankets of lead And the lion's mouth opens and yer staring at his teeth And his jaws start closin with you underneath And yer flat on your belly with yer hands tied behind And you wish you'd never taken that last detour sign And you say to yourself just what am I doin' On this road I'm walkin', on this trail I'm turnin' On this curve I'm hanging On this pathway I'm strolling, in the space I'm taking In this air I'm inhaling Am I mixed up too much, am I mixed up too hard Why am I walking, where am I running What am I saying, what am I knowing On this guitar I'm playing, on this banjo I'm frailin' On this mandolin I'm strummin', in the song I'm singin' In the tune I'm hummin', in the words I'm writin' In the words that I'm thinkin' In this ocean of hours I'm all the time drinkin' Who am I helping, what am I breaking What am I giving, what am I taking But you try with your whole soul best Never to think these thoughts and never to let Them kind of thoughts gain ground Or make yer heart pound But then again you know why they're around Just waiting for a chance to slip and drop down "Cause sometimes you hear'em when the night times comes creeping And you fear that they might catch you a-sleeping And you jump from yer bed, from yer last chapter of dreamin' And you can't remember for the best of yer thinking If that was you in the dream that was screaming And you know that it's something special you're needin' And you know that there's no drug that'll do for the healin' And no liquor in the land to stop yer brain from bleeding And you need something special Yeah, you need something special all right You need a fast flyin' train on a tornado track To shoot you someplace and shoot you back You need a cyclone wind on a stream engine howler That's been banging and booming and blowing forever That knows yer troubles a hundred times over You need a Greyhound bus that don't bar no race That won't laugh at yer looks Your voice or your face And by any number of bets in the book Will be rollin' long after the bubblegum craze You need something to open up a new door To show you something you seen before But overlooked a hundred times or more You need something to open your eyes You need something to make it known That it's you and no one else that owns That spot that yer standing, that space that you're sitting That the world ain't got you beat That it ain't got you licked It can't get you crazy no matter how many Times you might get kicked You need something special all right You need something special to give you hope But hope's just a word That maybe you said or maybe you heard On some windy corner 'round a wide-angled curve But that's what you need man, and you need it bad And yer trouble is you know it too good "Cause you look an' you start getting the chills "Cause you can't find it on a dollar bill And it ain't on Macy's window sill And it ain't on no rich kid's road map And it ain't in no fat kid's fraternity house And it ain't made in no Hollywood wheat germ And it ain't on that dimlit stage With that half-wit comedian on it Ranting and raving and taking yer money And you thinks it's funny No you can't find it in no night club or no yacht club And it ain't in the seats of a supper club And sure as hell you're bound to tell That no matter how hard you rub You just ain't a-gonna find it on yer ticket stub No, and it ain't in the rumors people're tellin' you And it ain't in the pimple-lotion people are sellin' you And it ain't in no cardboard-box house Or down any movie star's blouse And you can't find it on the golf course And Uncle Remus can't tell you and neither can Santa Claus And it ain't in the cream puff hair-do or cotton candy clothes And it ain't in the dime store dummies or bubblegum goons And it ain't in the marshmallow noises of the chocolate cake voices That come knockin' and tappin' in Christmas wrappin' Sayin' ain't I pretty and ain't I cute and look at my skin Look at my skin shine, look at my skin glow Look at my skin laugh, look at my skin cry When you can't even sense if they got any insides These people so pretty in their ribbons and bows No you'll not now or no other day Find it on the doorsteps made out-a paper mache« And inside it the people made of molasses That every other day buy a new pair of sunglasses And it ain't in the fifty-star generals and flipped-out phonies Who'd turn yuh in for a tenth of a penny Who breathe and burp and bend and crack And before you can count from one to ten Do it all over again but this time behind yer back My friend The ones that wheel and deal and whirl and twirl And play games with each other in their sand-box world And you can't find it either in the no-talent fools That run around gallant And make all rules for the ones that got talent And it ain't in the ones that ain't got any talent but think they do And think they're foolin' you The ones who jump on the wagon Just for a while 'cause they know it's in style To get their kicks, get out of it quick And make all kinds of money and chicks And you yell to yourself and you throw down yer hat Sayin', "Christ do I gotta be like that Ain't there no one here that knows where I'm at Ain't there no one here that knows how I feel Good God Almighty THAT STUFF AIN'T REAL" No but that ain't yer game, it ain't even yer race You can't hear yer name, you can't see yer face You gotta look some other place And where do you look for this hope that yer seekin' Where do you look for this lamp that's a-burnin' Where do you look for this oil well gushin' Where do you look for this candle that's glowin' Where do you look for this hope that you know is there And out there somewhere And your feet can only walk down two kinds of roads Your eyes can only look through two kinds of windows Your nose can only smell two kinds of hallways You can touch and twist And turn two kinds of doorknobs You can either go to the church of your choice Or you can go to Brooklyn State Hospital You'll find God in the church of your choice You'll find Woody Guthrie in Brooklyn State Hospital And though it's only my opinion I may be right or wrong You'll find them both In the Grand Canyon At sundown

[dylanradio]

Now Playing on DylanRadio.com: Last Thoughts on Woody Guthrie by Bob Dylan from The Bootleg Series, Volumes 1-3

When yer head gets twisted and yer mind grows numb When you think you're too old, too young, too smart or too dumb When yer laggin' behind an' losin' yer pace In a slow-motion crawl of life's busy race No matter what yer doing if you start givin' up If the wine don't come to the top of yer cup If the wind's got you sideways with with one hand holdin' on And the other starts slipping and the feeling is gone And yer train engine fire needs a new spark to catch it And the wood's easy findin' but yer lazy to fetch it And yer sidewalk starts curlin' and the street gets too long And you start walkin' backwards though you know its wrong And lonesome comes up as down goes the day And tomorrow's mornin' seems so far away And you feel the reins from yer pony are slippin' And yer rope is a-slidin' 'cause yer hands are a-drippin' And yer sun-decked desert and evergreen valleys Turn to broken down slums and trash-can alleys And yer sky cries water and yer drain pipe's a-pourin' And the lightnin's a-flashing and the thunder's a-crashin' And the windows are rattlin' and breakin' and the roof tops a-shakin' And yer whole world's a-slammin' and bangin' And yer minutes of sun turn to hours of storm And to yourself you sometimes say "I never knew it was gonna be this way Why didn't they tell me the day I was born" And you start gettin' chills and yer jumping from sweat And you're lookin' for somethin' you ain't quite found yet And yer knee-deep in the dark water with yer hands in the air And the whole world's a-watchin' with a window peek stare And yer good gal leaves and she's long gone a-flying And yer heart feels sick like fish when they're fryin' And yer jackhammer falls from yer hand to yer feet And you need it badly but it lays on the street And yer bell's bangin' loudly but you can't hear its beat And you think yer ears might a been hurt Or yer eyes've turned filthy from the sight-blindin' dirt And you figured you failed in yesterdays rush When you were faked out an' fooled white facing a four flush And all the time you were holdin' three queens And it's makin you mad, it's makin' you mean Like in the middle of Life magazine Bouncin' around a pinball machine And there's something on yer mind you wanna be saying That somebody someplace oughta be hearin' But it's trapped on yer tongue and sealed in yer head And it bothers you badly when your layin' in bed And no matter how you try you just can't say it And yer scared to yer soul you just might forget it And yer eyes get swimmy from the tears in yer head And yer pillows of feathers turn to blankets of lead And the lion's mouth opens and yer staring at his teeth And his jaws start closin with you underneath And yer flat on your belly with yer hands tied behind And you wish you'd never taken that last detour sign And you say to yourself just what am I doin' On this road I'm walkin', on this trail I'm turnin' On this curve I'm hanging On this pathway I'm strolling, in the space I'm taking In this air I'm inhaling Am I mixed up too much, am I mixed up too hard Why am I walking, where am I running What am I saying, what am I knowing On this guitar I'm playing, on this banjo I'm frailin' On this mandolin I'm strummin', in the song I'm singin' In the tune I'm hummin', in the words I'm writin' In the words that I'm thinkin' In this ocean of hours I'm all the time drinkin' Who am I helping, what am I breaking What am I giving, what am I taking But you try with your whole soul best Never to think these thoughts and never to let Them kind of thoughts gain ground Or make yer heart pound But then again you know why they're around Just waiting for a chance to slip and drop down "Cause sometimes you hear'em when the night times comes creeping And you fear that they might catch you a-sleeping And you jump from yer bed, from yer last chapter of dreamin' And you can't remember for the best of yer thinking If that was you in the dream that was screaming And you know that it's something special you're needin' And you know that there's no drug that'll do for the healin' And no liquor in the land to stop yer brain from bleeding And you need something special Yeah, you need something special all right You need a fast flyin' train on a tornado track To shoot you someplace and shoot you back You need a cyclone wind on a stream engine howler That's been banging and booming and blowing forever That knows yer troubles a hundred times over You need a Greyhound bus that don't bar no race That won't laugh at yer looks Your voice or your face And by any number of bets in the book Will be rollin' long after the bubblegum craze You need something to open up a new door To show you something you seen before But overlooked a hundred times or more You need something to open your eyes You need something to make it known That it's you and no one else that owns That spot that yer standing, that space that you're sitting That the world ain't got you beat That it ain't got you licked It can't get you crazy no matter how many Times you might get kicked You need something special all right You need something special to give you hope But hope's just a word That maybe you said or maybe you heard On some windy corner 'round a wide-angled curve But that's what you need man, and you need it bad And yer trouble is you know it too good "Cause you look an' you start getting the chills "Cause you can't find it on a dollar bill And it ain't on Macy's window sill And it ain't on no rich kid's road map And it ain't in no fat kid's fraternity house And it ain't made in no Hollywood wheat germ And it ain't on that dimlit stage With that half-wit comedian on it Ranting and raving and taking yer money And you thinks it's funny No you can't find it in no night club or no yacht club And it ain't in the seats of a supper club And sure as hell you're bound to tell That no matter how hard you rub You just ain't a-gonna find it on yer ticket stub No, and it ain't in the rumors people're tellin' you And it ain't in the pimple-lotion people are sellin' you And it ain't in no cardboard-box house Or down any movie star's blouse And you can't find it on the golf course And Uncle Remus can't tell you and neither can Santa Claus And it ain't in the cream puff hair-do or cotton candy clothes And it ain't in the dime store dummies or bubblegum goons And it ain't in the marshmallow noises of the chocolate cake voices That come knockin' and tappin' in Christmas wrappin' Sayin' ain't I pretty and ain't I cute and look at my skin Look at my skin shine, look at my skin glow Look at my skin laugh, look at my skin cry When you can't even sense if they got any insides These people so pretty in their ribbons and bows No you'll not now or no other day Find it on the doorsteps made out-a paper mache« And inside it the people made of molasses That every other day buy a new pair of sunglasses And it ain't in the fifty-star generals and flipped-out phonies Who'd turn yuh in for a tenth of a penny Who breathe and burp and bend and crack And before you can count from one to ten Do it all over again but this time behind yer back My friend The ones that wheel and deal and whirl and twirl And play games with each other in their sand-box world And you can't find it either in the no-talent fools That run around gallant And make all rules for the ones that got talent And it ain't in the ones that ain't got any talent but think they do And think they're foolin' you The ones who jump on the wagon Just for a while 'cause they know it's in style To get their kicks, get out of it quick And make all kinds of money and chicks And you yell to yourself and you throw down yer hat Sayin', "Christ do I gotta be like that Ain't there no one here that knows where I'm at Ain't there no one here that knows how I feel Good God Almighty THAT STUFF AIN'T REAL" No but that ain't yer game, it ain't even yer race You can't hear yer name, you can't see yer face You gotta look some other place And where do you look for this hope that yer seekin' Where do you look for this lamp that's a-burnin' Where do you look for this oil well gushin' Where do you look for this candle that's glowin' Where do you look for this hope that you know is there And out there somewhere And your feet can only walk down two kinds of roads Your eyes can only look through two kinds of windows Your nose can only smell two kinds of hallways You can touch and twist And turn two kinds of doorknobs You can either go to the church of your choice Or you can go to Brooklyn State Hospital You'll find God in the church of your choice You'll find Woody Guthrie in Brooklyn State Hospital And though it's only my opinion I may be right or wrong You'll find them both In the Grand Canyon At sundown