Experimental, impressionistic sub-paragraph tumblin' (think obstsalat)



I came to the place where the lone pilgrim lay,
And patiently stood by his tomb,
When in a low whisper I heard something say:
How sweetly I sleep here alone.
— Bob Dylan, Lone Pilgrim


Blue sky upon the horizon,
Private eye on my trail,
And if I don’t be there by morning
She’ll know that I must’ve spent the night in jail.
— Bob Dylan, If I Don’t Be There By Morning