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Bob Dylan - Gates Of Eden |
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Of war and peace the truth just twists |
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Its curfew gull just glides |
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Upon four-legged forest clouds |
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The cowboy angel rides |
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With his candle lit into the sun |
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Though its glow is waxed in black |
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All except when 'neath the trees of Eden |
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The lamppost stands with folded arms |
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Its iron claws attached |
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To curbs 'neath holes where babies wail |
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Though it shadows metal badge |
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All and all can only fall |
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With a crashing but meaningless blow |
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No sound ever comes from the Gates of Eden |
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The savage soldier sticks his head in sand |
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And then complains |
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Unto the shoeless hunter who's gone deaf |
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But still remains |
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Upon the beach where hound dogs bay |
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At ships with tattooed sails |
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Heading for the Gates of Eden |
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With a time-rusted compass blade |
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Aladdin and his lamp |
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Sits with Utopian hermit monks |
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Side saddle on the Golden Calf |
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And on their promises of paradise |
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You will not hear a laugh |
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All except inside the Gates of Eden |
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Relationships of ownership |
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They whisper in the wings |
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To those condemned to act accordingly |
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And wait for succeeding kings |
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And I try to harmonize with songs |
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The lonesome sparrow sings |
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There are no kings inside the Gates of Eden |
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The motorcycle black madonna |
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Two-wheeled gypsy queen |
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And her silver-studded phantom cause |
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The gray flannel dwarf to scream |
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As he weeps to wicked birds of prey |
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Who pick up on his bread crumb sins |
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And there are no sins inside the Gates of Eden |
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The kingdoms of Experience |
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In the precious wind they rot |
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While paupers change possessions |
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Each one wishing for what the other has got |
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And the princess and the prince |
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Discuss what's real and what is not |
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It doesn't matter inside the Gates of Eden |
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The foreign sun, it squints upon |
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A bed that is never mine |
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As friends and other strangers |
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From their fates try to resign |
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Leaving men wholly, totally free |
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To do anything they wish to do but die |
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And there are no trials inside the Gates of Eden |
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At dawn my lover comes to me |
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And tells me of her dreams |
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With no attempts to shovel the glimpse |
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Into the ditch of what each one means |
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At times I think there are no words |
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But these to tell what's true |
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And there are no truths outside the Gates of Eden |
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