I Practice A Faith That's Been Long

What Good Are Fans? You Can't Eat Applause For Breakfast. You Can't Sleep With It.

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.

I'd Been Going Though His Trash. He Knocked Me Down. I Was Glad To See Him, Even Though He Was Banging My Head Against The Sidewalk. Afterwards These Bums Come Over And Say, 'did He Get Much Money?' I Say, 'money'? That Was Bob Dylan.

Now All The Criminals In Their Suits And Ties Are Free To Drink Martinis And Watch The Sunrise

I Can't See Myself Singing The Same Song Twice In A Row. That's Terrible.