Bob Dylan



Thinking of a series of dreams

Where the time and the tempo fly,

And there's no exit in any direction

'Cept the one that you can't see with your eyes.

Wasn't making any great connection.

Wasn't falling for any intricate scheme,

Nothing that would pass inspection.

Just thinking of a series of dreams.



Put your hand on my head baby, do i have a temperature?

I see people who are supposed to know better standin' around like furniture.

There's a wall between you, and what you want and you got to leap it,

Tonight you got the power to take it, tomorrow you won't have the power to keep it.