The Fact That My Songs Take A

I’ll Be Marching Through The Morning, Marching Through The Night, Moving 'cross The Borders Of My Secret Life.

Garages, Barns And Attics Are Always Older Than The Buildings To Which They Are Attached.

I Almost Went To Bed Without Remembering The Four White Violets I Put In The Button-hole Of Your Green Sweater And How I Kissed You Then And You Kissed Me Shy As Though I’d Never Been Your Lover

God Is Alive. Magic Is Afoot. God Is Alive. Magic Is Afoot. God Is Afoot. Magic Is Alive. Alive Is Afoot. Magic Never Died. God Never Sickened. Many Poor Men Lied. Many Sick Men Lied. Magic Never Weakened. Magic Never Hid. Magic Always Ruled. God Is Afoot. God Was Ruler Though His Funeral Lengthened. Though His Mourners Thickened Magic Never Fled.

I Think That Any Songwriter - And I Think That Bob Dylan Knows This More Than All Of Us - You Don't Write The Songs Anyhow.