Once You Think You Know The Song,

Night Can Swallow You Up, Yet None Of It Touches You. Around Any Corner, There's A Promise Of Something Daring And Ideal And Things Are Just Getting Going. There's Something Obscenely Joyful Behind Every Door, Either That Or Somebody Crying With Their Head In In Their Hands. A Lazy Rhythm Looms In The Dreamy Air And The Atmosphere Pulsates With Bygone Duels, Past-life Romance, Comrades Requesting Comrades To Aid Them In Some Way. You Can't See It, But You Know It's There

The Song Was There Before Me, Before I Came Along. I Just Sorta Came Down And Just Sorta Took It Down With A Pencil, But It Was There Before I Came Around.

I Was Lingering Out On The Pavement. There Was A Missing Person Inside Of Myself And I Needed To Find Him . . . I Felt Done For, An Empty Burned-out Wreck . . . Wherever I Am, I'm A '60s Troubadour, A Folk-rock Relic, A Wordsmith From Bygone Days, A Fictitious Head Of State From A Place Nobody Knows.

A Song Is Like A Dream, And You Try To Make It Come True. They're Like Strange Countries That You Have To Enter.

How Many Roads Must A Man Walk Down Before Your Can Call Him A Man? . . . The Answer, My Friend, Is Blowin' In The Wind, The Answer Is Blowin' In The Wind.