When yer head gets twisted and yer mind grows numb
                          When you think you're too old, too young, too smart or too
                          dumb
                          When yer laggin' behind an' losin' yer pace
                          In a slow-motion crawl of life's busy race
                          No matter what yer doing if you start givin' up
                          If the wine don't come to the top of yer cup
                          If the wind's got you sideways with with one hand holdin'
                          on
                          And the other starts slipping and the feeling is gone
                          And yer train engine fire needs a new spark to catch it
                          And the wood's easy findin' but yer lazy to fetch it
                          And yer sidewalk starts curlin' and the street gets too
                          long
                          And you start walkin' backwards though you know its wrong
                          And lonesome comes up as down goes the day
                          And tomorrow's mornin' seems so far away
                          And you feel the reins from yer pony are slippin'
                          And yer rope is a-slidin' 'cause yer hands are a-drippin'
                          And yer sun-decked desert and evergreen valleys
                          Turn to broken down slums and trash-can alleys
                          And yer sky cries water and yer drain pipe's a-pourin'
                          And the lightnin's a-flashing and the thunder's a-crashin'
                          And the windows are rattlin' and breakin' and the roof tops
                          a-shakin'
                          And yer whole world's a-slammin' and bangin'
                          And yer minutes of sun turn to hours of storm
                          And to yourself you sometimes say
                          "I never knew it was gonna be this way
                          Why didn't they tell me the day I was born"
                          And you start gettin' chills and yer jumping from sweat
                          And you're lookin' for somethin' you ain't quite found yet
                          And yer knee-deep in the dark water with yer hands in the
                          air
                          And the whole world's a-watchin' with a window peek stare
                          And yer good gal leaves and she's long gone a-flying
                          And yer heart feels sick like fish when they're fryin'
                          And yer jackhammer falls from yer hand to yer feet
                          And you need it badly but it lays on the street
                          And yer bell's bangin' loudly but you can't hear its beat
                          And you think yer ears might a been hurt
                          Or yer eyes've turned filthy from the sight-blindin' dirt
                          And you figured you failed in yesterdays rush
                          When you were faked out an' fooled white facing a four
                          flush
                          And all the time you were holdin' three queens
                          And it's makin you mad, it's makin' you mean
                          Like in the middle of Life magazine
                          Bouncin' around a pinball machine
                          And there's something on yer mind you wanna be saying
                          That somebody someplace oughta be hearin'
                          But it's trapped on yer tongue and sealed in yer head
                          And it bothers you badly when your layin' in bed
                          And no matter how you try you just can't say it
                          And yer scared to yer soul you just might forget it
                          And yer eyes get swimmy from the tears in yer head
                          And yer pillows of feathers turn to blankets of lead
                          And the lion's mouth opens and yer staring at his teeth
                          And his jaws start closin with you underneath
                          And yer flat on your belly with yer hands tied behind
                          And you wish you'd never taken that last detour sign
                          And you say to yourself just what am I doin'
                          On this road I'm walkin', on this trail I'm turnin'
                          On this curve I'm hanging
                          On this pathway I'm strolling, in the space I'm taking
                          In this air I'm inhaling
                          Am I mixed up too much, am I mixed up too hard
                          Why am I walking, where am I running
                          What am I saying, what am I knowing
                          On this guitar I'm playing, on this banjo I'm frailin'
                          On this mandolin I'm strummin', in the song I'm singin'
                          In the tune I'm hummin', in the words I'm writin'
                          In the words that I'm thinkin'
                          In this ocean of hours I'm all the time drinkin'
                          Who am I helping, what am I breaking
                          What am I giving, what am I taking
                          But you try with your whole soul best
                          Never to think these thoughts and never to let
                          Them kind of thoughts gain ground
                          Or make yer heart pound
                          But then again you know why they're around
                          Just waiting for a chance to slip and drop down
                          "Cause sometimes you hear'em when the night times comes
                          creeping
                          And you fear that they might catch you a-sleeping
                          And you jump from yer bed, from yer last chapter of
                          dreamin'
                          And you can't remember for the best of yer thinking
                          If that was you in the dream that was screaming
                          And you know that it's something special you're needin'
                          And you know that there's no drug that'll do for the
                          healin'
                          And no liquor in the land to stop yer brain from bleeding
                          And you need something special
                          Yeah, you need something special all right
                          You need a fast flyin' train on a tornado track
                          To shoot you someplace and shoot you back
                          You need a cyclone wind on a stream engine howler
                          That's been banging and booming and blowing forever
                          That knows yer troubles a hundred times over
                          You need a Greyhound bus that don't bar no race
                          That won't laugh at yer looks
                          Your voice or your face
                          And by any number of bets in the book
                          Will be rollin' long after the bubblegum craze
                          You need something to open up a new door
                          To show you something you seen before
                          But overlooked a hundred times or more
                          You need something to open your eyes
                          You need something to make it known
                          That it's you and no one else that owns
                          That spot that yer standing, that space that you're sitting
                          That the world ain't got you beat
                          That it ain't got you licked
                          It can't get you crazy no matter how many
                          Times you might get kicked
                          You need something special all right
                          You need something special to give you hope
                          But hope's just a word
                          That maybe you said or maybe you heard
                          On some windy corner 'round a wide-angled curve

                          But that's what you need man, and you need it bad
                          And yer trouble is you know it too good
                          "Cause you look an' you start getting the chills

                          "Cause you can't find it on a dollar bill
                          And it ain't on Macy's window sill
                          And it ain't on no rich kid's road map
                          And it ain't in no fat kid's fraternity house
                          And it ain't made in no Hollywood wheat germ
                          And it ain't on that dimlit stage
                          With that half-wit comedian on it
                          Ranting and raving and taking yer money
                          And you thinks it's funny
                          No you can't find it in no night club or no yacht club
                          And it ain't in the seats of a supper club
                          And sure as hell you're bound to tell
                          That no matter how hard you rub
                          You just ain't a-gonna find it on yer ticket stub
                          No, and it ain't in the rumors people're tellin' you
                          And it ain't in the pimple-lotion people are sellin' you
                          And it ain't in no cardboard-box house
                          Or down any movie star's blouse
                          And you can't find it on the golf course
                          And Uncle Remus can't tell you and neither can Santa Claus
                          And it ain't in the cream puff hair-do or cotton candy
                          clothes
                          And it ain't in the dime store dummies or bubblegum goons
                          And it ain't in the marshmallow noises of the chocolate
                          cake voices
                          That come knockin' and tappin' in Christmas wrappin'
                          Sayin' ain't I pretty and ain't I cute and look at my skin
                          Look at my skin shine, look at my skin glow
                          Look at my skin laugh, look at my skin cry
                          When you can't even sense if they got any insides
                          These people so pretty in their ribbons and bows
                          No you'll not now or no other day
                          Find it on the doorsteps made out-a paper mache´
                          And inside it the people made of molasses
                          That every other day buy a new pair of sunglasses
                          And it ain't in the fifty-star generals and flipped-out
                          phonies
                          Who'd turn yuh in for a tenth of a penny
                          Who breathe and burp and bend and crack
                          And before you can count from one to ten
                          Do it all over again but this time behind yer back
                          My friend
                          The ones that wheel and deal and whirl and twirl
                          And play games with each other in their sand-box world
                          And you can't find it either in the no-talent fools
                          That run around gallant
                          And make all rules for the ones that got talent
                          And it ain't in the ones that ain't got any talent but
                          think they do
                          And think they're foolin' you
                          The ones who jump on the wagon
                          Just for a while 'cause they know it's in style
                          To get their kicks, get out of it quick
                          And make all kinds of rnoney and chicks
                          And you yell to yourself and you throw down yer hat
                          Sayin', "Christ do I gotta be like that
                          Ain't there no one here that knows where I'm at
                          Ain't there no one here that knows how I feel
                          Good God Almighty
                          THAT STUFF AIN'T REAL"

                          No but that ain't yer game, it ain't even yer race
                          You can't hear yer name, you can't see yer face
                          You gotta look some other place
                          And where do you look for this hope that yer seekin'
                          Where do you look for this lamp that's a-burnin'
                          Where do you look for this oil well gushin'
                          Where do you look for this candle that's glowin'
                          Where do you look for this hope that you know is there
                          And out there somewhere
                          And your feet can only walk down two kinds of roads
                          Your eyes can only look through two kinds of windows
                          Your nose can only smell two kinds of hallways
                          You can touch and twist
                          And turn two kinds of doorknobs
                          You can either go to the church of your choice
                          Or you can go to Brooklyn State Hospital
                          You'll find God in the church of your choice
                          You'll find Woody Guthrie in Brooklyn State Hospital

                          And though it's only my opinion
                          I may be right or wrong
                          You'll find them both
                          In the Grand Canyon
                          At sundown