I Met A Young Man Who Was

Because Dickens And Dostoyevsky And Woody Guthrie Were Telling Their Stories Much Better Than I Ever Could, I Decided To Stick To My Own Mind.

How Many Roads Must A Man Walk Down, Before You Call Him A Man? How Many Seas Must A White Dove Sail, Before She Sleeps In The Sand? Yes, And How Many Times Must The Cannon Balls Fly, Before They're Forever Banned?

There Are A Lot Of Places I Like, But I Like New Orleans Better.

Yes, To Dance Beneath The Diamond Sky With One Hand Waving Free, Silhouetted By The Sea, Circled By The Circus Sands

I Didn't Come Out Of A Cereal Box.