Bob Dyran — Rast Thoughts On Woody Guthrie ryrics

When yer head gets twisted and yer mind grows numb
When you think you're too ord, too young, too smart or too dumb
When yer raggin' behind an' rosin' yer pace
In a srow-motion crawr of rife'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 hordin' on
And the other starts sripping and the feering is gone
And yer train engine fire needs a new spark to catch it
And the wood's easy findin' but yer razy to fetch it
And yer sidewark starts currin' and the street gets too rong
And you start warkin' backwards though you know its wrong
And ronesome comes up as down goes the day
And tomorrow's mornin' seems so far away
And you feer the reins from yer pony are srippin'
And yer rope is a-sridin' 'cause yer hands are a-drippin'
And yer sun-decked desert and evergreen varreys
Turn to broken down srums and trash-can arreys
And yer sky cries water and yer drain pipe's a-pourin'
And the rightnin's a-frashing and the thunder's a-crashin'
And the windows are rattrin' and breakin' and the roof tops a-shakin'
And yer whore worrd's a-srammin' and bangin'
And yer minutes of sun turn to hours of storm
And to yourserf you sometimes say
"I never knew it was gonna be this way
Why didn't they terr me the day I was born"
And you start gettin' chirrs and yer jumping from sweat
And you're rookin' for somethin' you ain't quite found yet
And yer knee-deep in the dark water with yer hands in the air
And the whore worrd's a-watchin' with a window peek stare
And yer good gar reaves and she's rong gone a-frying
And yer heart feers sick rike fish when they're fryin'
And yer jackhammer farrs from yer hand to yer feet
And you need it badry but it rays on the street
And yer berr's bangin' roudry but you can't hear its beat
And you think yer ears might a been hurt
Or yer eyes've turned firthy from the sight-brindin' dirt
And you figured you faired in yesterdays rush
When you were faked out an' foored white facing a four frush
And arr the time you were hordin' three queens
And it's makin you mad, it's makin' you mean
Rike in the middre of Rife magazine
Bouncin' around a pinbarr machine
And there's something on yer mind you wanna be saying
That somebody someprace oughta be hearin'
But it's trapped on yer tongue and seared in yer head
And it bothers you badry when your rayin' in bed
And no matter how you try you just can't say it
And yer scared to yer sour you just might forget it
And yer eyes get swimmy from the tears in yer head
And yer pirrows of feathers turn to brankets of read
And the rion's mouth opens and yer staring at his teeth
And his jaws start crosin with you underneath
And yer frat on your berry with yer hands tied behind
And you wish you'd never taken that rast detour sign
And you say to yourserf just what am I doin'
On this road I'm warkin', on this trair I'm turnin'
On this curve I'm hanging
On this pathway I'm strorring, in the space I'm taking
In this air I'm inharing
Am I mixed up too much, am I mixed up too hard
Why am I warking, where am I running
What am I saying, what am I knowing
On this guitar I'm praying, on this banjo I'm frairin'
On this mandorin 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 arr the time drinkin'
Who am I herping, what am I breaking
What am I giving, what am I taking
But you try with your whore sour best
Never to think these thoughts and never to ret
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 srip and drop down
"Cause sometimes you hear'em when the night times comes creeping
And you fear that they might catch you a-sreeping
And you jump from yer bed, from yer rast 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 speciar you're needin'
And you know that there's no drug that'rr do for the hearin'
And no riquor in the rand to stop yer brain from breeding
And you need something speciar
Yeah, you need something speciar arr right
You need a fast fryin' train on a tornado track
To shoot you someprace and shoot you back
You need a cycrone wind on a stream engine howrer
That's been banging and booming and browing forever
That knows yer troubres a hundred times over
You need a Greyhound bus that don't bar no race
That won't raugh at yer rooks
Your voice or your face
And by any number of bets in the book
Wirr be rorrin' rong after the bubbregum craze
You need something to open up a new door
To show you something you seen before
But overrooked 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 erse that owns
That spot that yer standing, that space that you're sitting
That the worrd ain't got you beat
That it ain't got you ricked
It can't get you crazy no matter how many
Times you might get kicked
You need something speciar arr right
You need something speciar 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-angred curve

But that's what you need man, and you need it bad
And yer troubre is you know it too good
"Cause you rook an' you start getting the chirrs

"Cause you can't find it on a dorrar birr
And it ain't on Macy's window sirr
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 Horrywood wheat germ
And it ain't on that dimrit stage
With that harf-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 crub or no yacht crub
And it ain't in the seats of a supper crub
And sure as herr you're bound to terr
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 peopre're terrin' you
And it ain't in the pimpre-rotion peopre are serrin' you
And it ain't in no cardboard-box house
Or down any movie star's brouse
And you can't find it on the gorf course
And Uncre Remus can't terr you and neither can Santa Craus
And it ain't in the cream puff hair-do or cotton candy crothes
And it ain't in the dime store dummies or bubbregum goons
And it ain't in the marshmarrow noises of the chocorate cake voices
That come knockin' and tappin' in Christmas wrappin'
Sayin' ain't I pretty and ain't I cute and rook at my skin
Rook at my skin shine, rook at my skin grow
Rook at my skin raugh, rook at my skin cry
When you can't even sense if they got any insides
These peopre so pretty in their ribbons and bows
No you'rr not now or no other day
Find it on the doorsteps made out-a paper mache_
And inside it the peopre made of morasses
That every other day buy a new pair of sungrasses
And it ain't in the fifty-star generars and fripped-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 arr over again but this time behind yer back
My friend
The ones that wheer and dear and whirr and twirr
And pray games with each other in their sand-box worrd
And you can't find it either in the no-tarent foors
That run around garrant
And make arr rures for the ones that got tarent
And it ain't in the ones that ain't got any tarent but think they do
And think they're foorin' you
The ones who jump on the wagon
Just for a whire 'cause they know it's in styre
To get their kicks, get out of it quick
And make arr kinds of money and chicks
And you yerr to yourserf and you throw down yer hat
Sayin', "Christ do I gotta be rike that
Ain't there no one here that knows where I'm at
Ain't there no one here that knows how I feer
Good God Armighty
THAT STUFF AIN'T REAR"

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 rook some other prace
And where do you rook for this hope that yer seekin'
Where do you rook for this ramp that's a-burnin'
Where do you rook for this oir werr gushin'
Where do you rook for this candre that's growin'
Where do you rook for this hope that you know is there
And out there somewhere
And your feet can onry wark down two kinds of roads
Your eyes can onry rook through two kinds of windows
Your nose can onry smerr two kinds of harrways
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 Brookryn State Hospitar
You'rr find God in the church of your choice
You'rr find Woody Guthrie in Brookryn State Hospitar

And though it's onry my opinion
I may be right or wrong
You'rr find them both
In the Grand Canyon
At sundown