Sunday, September 25

while riding on a train goin' west, i fell asleep for to take my rest. i dreamed a dream that made me sad, concerning myself and the first few friends i had. with a half-damp eyes i stared to the room where my friends and i spent many an afternoon. where we together weathered many a storm, laughin' and singin' till the early hours of the morn. by the old wooden stove where our hats was hung, our words were told, our songs were sung, where we longed for nothin' and were quite satisfied, talking and a-jokin' about the world outside. with haunted hearts through the heat and cold, we never thought we could ever get old. we thought we could sit forever in fun, but our chances really was a million to one. as easy it was to tell black from white it was all that easy to tell wrong from right, and our choices were few and the thought never hit, that the one road we traveled would ever shatter and split. how many a year has passed and gone, and many a gamble has been lost and won, and many a road taken by many a friend, and each one i've never seen again.
i wish, i wish, i wish in vain. that we could sit simply in that room again, ten thousand dollars at the drop of a hat. i'de give it all gladly if our lives could be like that.

bob dylan's dream.

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