Skip to main content

Not Dark Yet by Bob Dylan --- Lyrics

Working on some stuff, but not as good as this:



Shadows are fallin' and I've been here all day It's too hot to sleep and time is runnin' away Feel like my soul has turned into steel I've still got the scars that the sun didn't heal There's not even room enough to be anywhere It's not dark yet but it's gettin' there. Well, my sense of humanity has gone down the drain Behind every beautiful thing there's been some kind of pain She wrote me a letter and she wrote it so kind She put down in writin' what was in her mind I just don't see why I should even care It's not dark yet but it's gettin' there. Well, I've been to London and I been to gay Paris I've followed the river and I got to the sea I've been down on the bottom of the world full of lies I ain't lookin' for nothin' in anyone's eyes Sometimes my burden is more than I can bear It's not dark yet but it's gettin' there. I was born here and I'll die here against my will I know it looks like I'm movin' but I'm standin' still Every nerve in my body is so naked and numb I can't even remember what it was I came here to get away from Don't even hear the murmur of a prayer It's not dark yet but it's gettin' there.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Explain nothing, except your self

Explain nothing, except your self. I feel like the last of a tribe struggling to keep my identity a secret from the mob, one step ahead at best, reduced to hiding in bushes from the monsters waiting to snag and devour me. Sort of a delicacy and a poison – a non-specific drug that exudes memes instead of hormones and physical highs – subconscious, primitive analog get-off-ness apparently responsible for some weird competitive advantage consolidating over geological time out of our mixed genus ancestors, or maybe Texans. At the same time, I feel like spasmed dots from gods own printer cartridge ejaculated onto the canvas of a great emptiness, the thought of which is expressed in the three-dimensional representation of the position I’m braced into while doing the splatting -- all hologram like but only juicier and used -- like an in and out burger wrapper chewed on by a trashcan opossum. Or better, a goat in a pickup heading for a quinceanera debating Schrödinger with the
Post a Comment
Read more

Free Willy

“…Some say it's just a part of it We've got to fulfill the book.” B. Marley Before I completely run away from the point, the subject of this essay is free will, or, more accurately, the illusion of free will. It will be interesting to see if free will even comes up laterally over the next few hundred words now that I’ve set it up as a specific goal.  The imp of the perverse makes it a sure thing that I won’t – but that surety might also double back and force  me to stay on point. There are no dogs to pick  in this fight and it’s not a fight,  and if I’m right, none of this is anything but documentation for a litigious god that will never see it. Like quantum mechanics, life is about either time or place, never both, and how we choose to pretty up our choices is neither the point, or even a choice – it’s after the fact punctuation we use to justify and make sense of our ontological messiness.  (Science has proven that we decide things with our body before the brain
Post a Comment
Read more