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3 faux-Bob Dylan lyrics/poems

3 faux-Bob Dylan lyrics/poems

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Published by Frank Feldman
Rhyming couplets, poetry, after Bob Dylan, life, loss, love, sex, birth, death, existential, autobiographical, humor, morbid, suicide, salvation, et al.
Rhyming couplets, poetry, after Bob Dylan, life, loss, love, sex, birth, death, existential, autobiographical, humor, morbid, suicide, salvation, et al.

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Categories:Book Excerpts
Published by: Frank Feldman on Nov 08, 2013
Copyright:Attribution Non-commercial

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03/28/2014

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Three faux-Bob Dylan lyrics/poems:1) Bob Dylan’s -115th Epiphany,2) Bob Dylan’s Strange Victory, and3) Bob Dylan’s Journey To the Promised Land1) Bob Dylan’s -115th Epiphany
I was sitting in a diner late one Saturday nightThe waitress seemed impatient, maybe spoiling for a fightI just wanted a smile, some scrambled eggs, and some toastI didn’t want no trouble, just some small talk at the mostI felt a bit of sympathy though I tried to choke it downI couldn’t stop my thoughts from spinning round and roundShe finally ambled over and started staring at meAsked me if I wanted any coffee or teaI couldn’t get my words out cause she seemed so awful sadThe way she stooped and mumbled, the expression that she hadShe looked at me with longing and I thought I spied a tear She whispered to me soft, “Can you help get me outta here?”I woulda liked to help her if I’d known what to doBut I pretty much just sat there till my meal was throughOut the window of my booth I saw a man on the streetLooking wasted, kinda loony and shuffling his feetI didn’t drink my coffee or wait for the billI put down twenty dollars on the windowsillI headed out the door into the gloom and the dark Damned if I remembered where the hell I parkedThe waitress’ face was burned so deep in my brainI didn’t even notice it was pouring rainI saw the shuffling man out the corner of my eyeBut pretended not to notice and just looked up at the skyI saw the weeping waitress and the shuffling man thereUp inside a black cloud with their arms in the air I kept a’ walking and a’ thinking, I walked real, real far I gave up any hope of ever finding my car My life seemed but a joke and it seemed that joke was a factSo I lay my weary body on the railroad track 
Three faux-Bob Dylan lyrics/poems, p. 1 of 7 pp.
 
I fell asleep there for a while but when I finally came toI remembered no train had run there since 2000 and 2They closed it that year because of all the suicidesOn account of all the relatives whose loved ones had diedI could feel them all around me, I could smell their despair I heard their cries and whispers though there was nobody thereI stood up real slowly and shook off the dustI looked down at the train tracks all rotted with rustI decided then and there that I would walk back into townBut I didn’t see nothing there, I didn’t hear a soundI finally found my car at the break of dawnWith a ticket from a cop who must have come and goneThe shuffling man was nowhere and the diner was closedThe world seemed strange in ways I could never have supposedI felt wise and I felt stupid, I felt giddy and I felt sadIt was the most confusing feeling I think I’ve ever hadI never had the urge again to lay down and dieEverything was different though I had no idea whyMy life was changed forever in ways I’ll never understandBy the train tracks, the waitress, and the shuffling man
2) Bob Dylan’s Strange Victory
I took a long walk today through my favorite park I went when it was sunny, I don’t see good in the dark I sat down for a spell under a big old maple treeAnd lo and behold it started talking to me“Tell me all that you’ve accomplished, what you still hope to achieve,And all the accolades that you have ever received.”It seemed kinda weird for Mother Nature to be hassling meBut I shot right back and said, “You ain’t no goddamned Bodhi treeI don’t think about such things, I’m not responsible to youI ain’t listening anymore, I got better things to doI’m not gonna trouble myself one minute ‘bout the things that you saidI’m gonna walk myself on over to the playground instead”So I headed to the playground and I plopped down on a swingThought I’d try to clear my head out, maybe even listen to the birds singWhen this little kid comes over and sits right down next to meHe seemed content to swing and pretty much just let me be
Three faux-Bob Dylan lyrics/poems, p. 2 of 7 pp.
 
But it soon became apparent that with every swing that I took He was grumbling to himself and shooting me a dirty look When I finally got around to slowing down a hair He suddenly said I had no right to even be there“Leave us alone, Grandpa, let us little kids beGo try to make yourself some decent sort of legacyYou’ve wasted your potential, you’re a joke of a manGo do something meaningful if you think you still canDon’t you feel the wind a’ whistling ‘cause the end is near?You can still make a difference, now get the hell outta here”He shot off like greased lightning at a sprinters paceWhich was good ‘cause if he’d gone on much more I woulda slapped him in his faceI wondered where that boy had learned to say what he didI wondered if maybe he wasn’t just some snot-nosed kidMaybe he was an angel, some sort of emissary from GodThough he brought me no comfort and he had no staff or rodI knew that thought was crazy, that he was just some little bratI rubbed my eyes and looked once more at the swing where he’d satI’ve been lost to God my entire life, it’s unlikely I’d be found nowI decided to go waste some time in town, I pretty much knew just howI got myself a Coke and started browsing at the dollar storeI had no idea what I wanted or what the hell I might want it for I was walking down an aisle and not thinking real clear When a sour-looking old woman said, “Can I help you, dear?It seems to me you’re in need of all the help you can getGiven all your advantages in life you ain’t really done shit yetYou’ve done nothing for humanity, you’ve made a mess out of your life...”She kept on cutting me into pieces like a Swiss army knifeI wanted to find her boss and get her nasty-ass firedBut my feet just wouldn’t carry me, they were suddenly weak and tiredI felt my head getting woozy and my legs start to give outThe last thing I remember was hearing the store manager shoutThe next thing I know I’m staring right up into spaceAt the nightstick of a cop who was all up in my faceI expected him to help me ‘cause I was feeling dizzy and frailBut the bastard just dragged my ass off to the county jailIt was a travesty of justice that didn’t and don’t make senseParticularly because he never explained to me the nature of my offenseI’m in solitary confinement now serving life without parole
Three faux-Bob Dylan lyrics/poems, p. 3 of 7 pp.

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