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Every Grain of Sand - Bob Dylan |
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In the time of my confession, |
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in the hour of my deepest need |
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When the pool of tears beneath |
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my feet flood every newborn seed |
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There's a dyin' voice within me reaching out somewhere |
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Toiling in the danger and in the morals of despair |
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Don't have the inclination to look back on any mistake |
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Like cain, I now behold this chain |
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of events that I must break |
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In the fury of the moment, |
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I can see the master's hand |
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In every leaf that trembles, |
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in every grain of sand |
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Oh, the flowers of indulgence |
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and the weeds of yester year |
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Like criminals, they have choked the breath |
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of conscience and good cheer |
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Then the sun beat down upon the steps |
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of time to light the way |
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To ease the pain of idleness and the memory of decay |
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I gaze into the doorway of temptation's angry flame |
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And every time I pass that way I always hear my name |
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Then onward in my journey, I come to understand |
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That every hair is numbered like every grain of sand |
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I have gone from rags to riches |
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in the sorrow of the night |
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In the violence of a summer's dream, |
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in the chill of a wintery light |
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In the bitter dance of loneliness fading into space |
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In the broken mirror of innocence |
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on each forgotten face |
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I hear the ancient footsteps like the motion of the sea |
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Sometimes I turn, there's someone there, |
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other times it's only me |
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I am hanging in the balance of the reality of man |
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Like every sparrow falling, like every grain of sand |
