I've come to the conclusion that there is no disorder so wonderful as whatever happened to Bob Dylan in 1965 and 1966. I've yet to hear the country-leaning "John Wesly Harding" album that followed in 1967, although I hear it's chock full of biblical imagery which should put it straight up my alley.
The geometry of innocent flesh on the bone
Causes Galileo's math book to get thrown
At Delilah who sits worthlessly alone
But the tears on her cheeks are from laughter
Now I wish I could give Brother Bill his great thrill
I would set him in chains at the top of the hill
Then send out for some pillars and Cecil B. DeMille
He could die happily ever after
Mama's in the fact'ry
She ain't got no shoes
Daddy's in the alley
He's lookin' for FOOD
I'm in the KITCHEN
With the tombstone blues
Where Ma Raney and Beethoven once unwrapped their bed roll
Tuba players now rehearse around the flagpole
And the National Bank at a profit sells road maps for the soul
To the old folks home and the college
Now I wish I could write you a melody so plain
That could hold you dear lady from going insane
That could ease you and cool you and cease the pain
Of your useless and pointless knowledge
Mama's in the fact'ry
She ain't got no shoes
Daddy's in the alley
He's lookin' for FOOD
I'm in the KITCHEN
With the tombstone blues
Also, I'm so dissapointed that nobody has stumbled onto my wishlist, it's been about a year since I thought of what I'd most want if I could have ANYTHING in the world. As soon as I get it I'm going to blow you all straight to hell.
The geometry of innocent flesh on the bone
Causes Galileo's math book to get thrown
At Delilah who sits worthlessly alone
But the tears on her cheeks are from laughter
Now I wish I could give Brother Bill his great thrill
I would set him in chains at the top of the hill
Then send out for some pillars and Cecil B. DeMille
He could die happily ever after
Mama's in the fact'ry
She ain't got no shoes
Daddy's in the alley
He's lookin' for FOOD
I'm in the KITCHEN
With the tombstone blues
Where Ma Raney and Beethoven once unwrapped their bed roll
Tuba players now rehearse around the flagpole
And the National Bank at a profit sells road maps for the soul
To the old folks home and the college
Now I wish I could write you a melody so plain
That could hold you dear lady from going insane
That could ease you and cool you and cease the pain
Of your useless and pointless knowledge
Mama's in the fact'ry
She ain't got no shoes
Daddy's in the alley
He's lookin' for FOOD
I'm in the KITCHEN
With the tombstone blues
Also, I'm so dissapointed that nobody has stumbled onto my wishlist, it's been about a year since I thought of what I'd most want if I could have ANYTHING in the world. As soon as I get it I'm going to blow you all straight to hell.
kenyon:
that's so fuckin weird - i was just thinking i should try to get a helper monkey. then i immediately thought about hygeine. then i thought about that simpsons episode . . .