Of war and peace the truth just twists
|
Its curfew gull just glides
|
Upon four-legged forest clouds
|
The cowboy angel rides
|
With his candle lit into the sun
|
Though its glow is waxed in black
|
All except when 'neath the trees of Eden.
|
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The lamppost stands with folded arms
|
Its iron claws attached
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To curbs 'neath holes where babies wail
|
Though it shadows metal badge
|
All and all can only fall
|
With a crashing but meaningless blow
|
No sound ever comes from the Gates of Eden.
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The savage soldiers sticks his head in sand
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And then complains
|
Unto the shoeless hunter who's gone deaf
|
But still remains
|
Upon the beach where hound dogs bay
|
At ships with tatooed sails
|
Heading for the Gates of Eden.
|
|
With a time-rusted compass blade
|
Alladin and his lamp
|
Sits with Utopian hermit monks
|
Side saddle on the Golden Calf
|
And on their promises of paradise
|
You will not hear a laugh
|
All except inside the Gates of Eden.
|
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Relationships of ownership
|
They whisper in the wings
|
To those condemned to act accordingly
|
And wait for succeeding kings
|
And I will try to harmonize with songs
|
The lonesome sparrow sings
|
There are no kings inside the Gates of Eden.
|
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The motorcycle black madonna
|
Two-wheeled gypsy queen
|
And her silver-studded phantom cause
|
The gray flannel dwarf to scream
|
As he weeps to wicked birds of prey
|
Who pick up on his bread crumb sins
|
And there are no sins inside the Gates of Eden.
|
|
The kingdoms of Experience
|
In the precious wind they rot
|
While paupers change possessions
|
Each one wishing for what the other has got
|
And the princess and the prince
|
Discuss what's real and what is not
|
It doesn't matter inside the Gates of Eden.
|
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The foreign sun, it squints upon
|
A bed that is never mine
|
As friends and other strangers
|
From their fates try to resign
|
Leaving men wholly totally free
|
To do anything they wish to do but die
|
And there are no trials inside the Gates of Eden.
|
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At dawn my lower comes to me
|
And tells me of her dreams
|
With no attempts to shovel the glimpse
|
Into the ditch of what each one means
|
At times I think there are no words
|
But these to tell what's true
|
And there are no truths outside the Gates of Eden.
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-----------------
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Gates Of Eden
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Bob Dylan |